Percolate
by KyinHI
Summary: Missing scenes and musings from throughout the seasons. Accompanied by coffee and cheer, tea and comfort.
1. Chapter 1

**Quick note: Some of you may have already read some of this and I apologize for abandoning this story. I don't remember what happened, but I'm sure it was all _very_ dramatic in my mind at the time. Good news it that I'm gonna dust this old thing off and try again. Better news is that it's going to be a much cleaner version than the original. I was a newbie at the time I first tried this and it showed. Even better news still is that I have an idea of where I want to go with it so updates should be fairly regular. Feel free to shower me with all the love and affection (read: reviews) if you are a fan of this story. They really do boost the confidence and encourage me to write more when I'm stuck in the throws of "Writing 1st person is HARD and I want to play Candy Crush instead!"**

**Note #2: Turns out, I'm adding and changing quite a bit. Completely fresh material starting at around chapter 9, but it's ALL getting a major overhaul. **

* * *

He had first started coming here late at night.

Almost twenty years ago, I realize with a wince and note to myself that it's been a while since I had my roots touched up. When I was just a starving art student and he was just a struggling writer, he had come here trying to stave off a hangover; a caffeinated nightcap and a day old muffin, after a night spent drinking and writing elsewhere in town.

I had been a barista then. The lowest of the low on the totem pole. Relegated to shifts late at night, the early mornings and all weekend long. I didn't mind though because I got to do what I loved most; watch people and make notes in my journal. Concoct little stories in my head about what kind of lives they led while I perfected the layered macchiato, or the consummate bean to water ratio for a short black.

The overnight shift also left me with plenty of time to indulge in my other passion. Reading. It was me with my head stuck in a book and him with a cheeky clearing of his throat and eyebrow raise to grab my attention that had first started our somewhat odd relationship. He'd asked what I was reading and I'd winced at my current choice of literature. A cheap dime store novel involving heaving bosoms and pirates. Fabio might have even been on the cover.

"It's not the best," I had said. "But it passes the time. And this way I'm not mad if I'm interrupted by a customer for their fourth refill.." I'd trailed off with a smile and an exaggerated sigh.

He ignored my jab with a smile and spoke. "When I get mine published," he'd said, his eyes dreamy and faraway, "I'll bring you a copy."

"It's on the house," I had replied as I handed over his cup, skeptical. "Make sure you do that."

That was the first night I'd ever read anything by him but it soon became our late night routine. He'd arrive and order a cappuccino, I'd comp him the next two or three, and by the time the first lights of dawn would start tickling their way through the skyscraper's overbearing shadows he would pull whatever I was reading out of my hand and slip his latest scene or chapter into it's place. I'd give him an honest review, and he'd thank me for not sugar coating the flaws. And then he'd thank me again, unknowingly, by returning the next night to show me more.

Ten months and innumerable cups of coffee later, to my complete surprise he had delivered on his promise. His first novel, full of mystery, action and intrigue; it had me hooked from the first paragraph. I'd asked him to sign it, so that when he became too famous to converse with his lowly barista, I'd have proof that I knew him way back when. He'd laughed but obliged with a bow and a flourish of his pen.

_Jess,_

_I will never be too famous for a perfect cappuccino and better company. Write more, work less. _

_R.R._

I still have no idea how he had known about my secretive writing projects. I had made it a point not to share, being far to nervous to let any but my own eyes see my work. He had kept his word though and now, twenty years, three marriages (two for him, one for me) and many long nights later, we still catch up while I make him his cappuccino and give him a loving but brutal critique of his work.

He still brings me his books the first week they come out. Unfortunately, I don't get my hands on the rough drafts nearly as often as I'd like anymore. He has editors and publicists to worry about. He does occasionally oblige me though by leaving his laptop open while he takes an extended trip to the bathroom.

I still pretend I'm not a huge fan. He still pretends to believe me.

He doesn't show up as often as he used to, my famous regular; none other than Richard Castle, Master of the Macabre. He's killed off Derrick Storm and I haven't seen him since he had dropped off _Storm Fall._

The inscription had read: _I'm sorry. I know you loved him. Rick._

I could strangle him for the spoiler that inscription had left me with.

As he makes his way over to the counter, with his hands raised in surrender and a plea not to kill him on his lips, I notice a light in his eyes and a spring in his step that has been missing for a good long while.

He looks good, he's wearing dark jeans and a deep red dress shirt that hugs him in all the right places. A black sport coat is slung over his arm and a gray scarf adorns his neck. He could model for GQ, or maybe some high-end, overpriced cologne that sports the name of the latest celebrity of note. It's a definite step up from his more recent attire. While he always looks dashing at media events, the Rick Castle I know is more likely of late to be seen in jeans a little too baggy and shirts a little too worn even for him to pull off as sexy.

Frankly, I'd been worried about him. I'd read the stories on page six, seen the droop to his shoulders and heard the heavy sighs as he sat with his laptop at the corner table, the white of a blank document reflecting on his tired looking face.

"Well, Mr Rogers! It's a beautiful day in this neighbor hood," I say as I wave my barista away to serve him myself.

"Jess, a neighborly day for a beauty. Would you be mine?"

I smile in greeting.

"So, how goes the coffee business?" he asks.

"Business is booming, as you can see," I smile, waving my hands in the general direction of my bustling cafe's seating area. "Doesn't leave much time for anything else, but it pays the bills. It probably helps that I'm pushing the fifth most addictive drug in the world." I add with a wink.

"Write more, Jess. Work less." he replies.

He makes sure to drop that line into every conversation we have. I get the feeling sometimes that he's trying to assure himself that he's the same man who wrote it to me all those years ago. Other times, I'm certain it's just his dig that I still haven't let him see any of my own musings, let alone had the nerve to try and publish.

"Says the man who killed off my favorite character with not even a hint of anything new to come. Tell me you have something exciting up your sleeve? As much as you crave my caffeine, it pains me to admit that I just as heartily crave your overly dramatic tomes."

"Not a word on the fan sites," he says with a knowing smirk and a hushed voice, "but I may have recently found my new muse." His eyebrows raise. "Wait..overly dramatic? You wound me, woman!"

"Pfft!" I huff. "As if. I have more important things to be doing than flailing with your legions of fangirls on the internet. And really Rick..."

I pause for a moment to study his face, really wanting to know, but not wanting to hurt him.

But this is our usual schtick and he definitely has a certain twinkle in his eyes. He's a big boy, he can take it. We have a sibling-like relationship and I feel it's my duty as his overbearing yet lovable, adopted older sister to give him a little jab.

"That final scene in_ Storm Fall?_ Not your best work. So... You wanna tell me what happened to make you give up on that long-running cash cow?"

I hand over his brew and wave off the cash he's trying to offer me. He stuffs the twenty in the tip jar anyway and motions for me to join him in his regular spot. I sink happily into the overstuffed, antique chair, grateful to be off my feet and wait for him to talk. During the course of our friendship it has become our routine. I make him his drink and poke fun at his work; he invites me to sit with him and he digs at me for not having the guts to share mine. He gives me grief on my seriously lacking love-life, and I give it back about his over-publicized affairs.

He sips at his drink and purses his lips into a tight grin.

"I'm shadowing a homicide detective," he starts. Ignoring my dig about Derrick for the moment and skipping over the part where he usually prods me for a peek at my journal.

I'm picturing a balding, middle-aged man with a little too much girth around the waist. I'm wondering what has him so obviously in a better mood since dead bodies and donuts doesn't seem like it would fit the bill.

"Fine then, don't tell me about Derrick."

He sighs, shrugs and leans back into the chair. "Derrick had become.. rote," he says. "I could probably spit out twenty more novels in my sleep but it had become incredibly boring. I'd lost my passion, you know?"

Wow. Rick without a passion for writing is not a Rick I'm familiar with. It's been the one constant through all the ups and downs of the past twenty odd years.

"And now?" I ask gently, hoping the new-found sense of style is a hopeful sign.

"It may be back."

He smiles enigmatically and I feel an overwhelming urge to grill him until he gives me all the juicy little details. Tit for tat. It's only fair. It has not escaped my notice that some of the more humiliating adventures of my dating life have ended up making not so veiled appearances throughout his books.

Of course I'd forgiven him it all when he'd killed off my cheating ex-husband by way of a mob of angry cultists and with a dagger to the heart.

Unfortunately, the lunch rush is fast overwhelming my two employees and I needed to go assist.

It is at times like this, when angry looking business men and haughty faced women with too much money and not enough patience make me question my sanity, and the spur of the moment decision to buy this little shop over a decade ago. Still, I have grown the Java Hut into a thriving business, through a commitment to taking time to get to know my regulars and by making sure my employees know how to make a proper drink before putting them on the La Marzocco during anything but the midnight shift. I'm proud of the fact that my line of customers regularly outdoes the one at the Starbucks across the street.

Standing slowly, I grind my teeth and steal a deep breath, paste a smile onto my face and prepare to placate the sour looking man currently giving my most diligent employee a filthy look.

He places a hand on mine and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Take care of them. I'll get out of your hair," he says with a smile, rising and picking up his jacket from the back of the chair.

"I wasn't done hounding you yet," I say, his friendly squeeze easing my nerves just a little.

It's probably a good thing for the man now sipping at his coffee with a look of annoyed distaste on his face. I imagine that he is probably the type so accustomed to cheap drip that he wouldn't know a good espresso bean if it rose up and shot him in the eye.

"You got this, Jess," Rick says with a nod in the direction of the counter.

The smooth and familiar timbre of his voice melts the last of my frustrations away.

"Since when do you rise before noon anyway?" I ask as an afterthought as I make my way back to the counter and offer to remake the no doubt perfect cup of coffee before the suit can cause a scene.

"Since what I'd hoped to be a conquest somehow turned into a crusade."

He leaves with his trademark eyebrow raise and blows me a kiss as he breezes out the door.

The damn man has left me even more intrigued than I was when he had entered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aww, you guys are the best! Thanks for reading, following, adding to your favs and (my favorite) reviewing. Muah!**

* * *

He shows up in the mornings now, with all the other working stiffs. At least that's what Megan, my morning employee tells me as she hands over the shift one afternoon. I gave up mornings when I bought the joint and as much as I miss our late night chats, I'm not about to give up my beauty rest for him.

So I'm surprised when the bell above the door rings and it's Rick. He looks good.

Damn good, I think as he struts in late one afternoon. It's not just his usual effortless and handsome self, but something a little extra. He's clean shaven and dressed to kill; he's looks downright debonair, has lost almost entirely the bad boy persona. It's been almost three months but the happy glimmer that I remember from our last chat is still shining in his eyes.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decides to grace me with his presence," I sing-song, as he walks over to where I'm restocking the pastries and places a light kiss on my cheek.

"Oh you know, Jess, it's a hard job but I do have an _awful_ lot of bad karma to burn off," he snarks back at me.

He pulls a pair of gloves from his pocket, snaps them on and starts assisting me with the baked goods as though he's just another one of my employees; albeit an awfully well-dressed one.

"Do I even want to know why you carry around the gloves?" I ask with raised brows, imagining all kinds of unseemly reasons.

"Rick Castle," he says with a wide grin, holding out his hand to shake. "Consultant with the N.Y.P.D., Twelfth Precinct. Nice to meet you."

My eyes widen in disbelief and my mouth is probably hanging just a little bit open in shock. I'm having a hard time believing that the man who has been known to change muses as often as he changes his underwear is still persisting with this shadowing gig. Usually his research jaunts last about a week while he sucks down as much information as he can, before he's off and writing, and then onto the next. I had figured when I last saw him that the effervescent aura he was giving off was related to some new flavor of the month. His usual; a busty blonde or maybe some simpering redhead, a vapid brunette.

But maybe he is really just digging the police work. He'd looked almost... proud... when he pronounced his consultant role.

"So, the usual?" I inquire, standing and brushing the crumbs from my slacks.

"You know it. Also, um... a latte. Make it a..." He hesitates and scans the menu board, his face serious and contemplative.

"Anytime today, Ricky."

"A... a caramel. Yeah, caramel. Thanks, Jess."

"Meeting someone?" I ask. This is becoming more and more intriguing; it's _definitely_ a lady with that sugary order.

The milk gurgles and hisses as the steam quickly foams to the top of the beaker. I could swear for a second that I see a hint of indecision on his face. As though he isn't quite sure he wants to share. His eyes cloud over and suddenly he's paying me absolutely no attention.

Interesting indeed.

Rick is usually somewhat of an _over-_sharer, his mouth often revealing details that in retrospect he'd probably rather forget. I've seen that kind of hesitation on his face only a handful of times; twice before that I can recall immediately.

It means something serious is churning in that enigmatic mind of his.

The first time I'd seen that look was fifteen years ago, when he'd sheepishly sat himself on the counter one late night and whispered almost inaudibly, "Meredith is pregnant, I think I'm going to marry her."

After a none to graceful spit-take and a good long choking spell, I'd told him in as nice a way as I could muster that it was going to end in disaster. I'd tried to talk him out of it, tried to make him see reason and implored him to at least move in with her first. He'd just nodded his head and solemnly told me that he needed to try and do it properly. For the baby; to give him or her a chance to have what he never had. I had reminded him that Martha hadn't done too terrible a job with him and that he'd turned out quite well. He'd shaken his head and stubbornly ignored my advice.

The second time I'd seen it was two years later, when he'd brought in a giggly and adorable Alexis and set her up at a table with a coloring book and crayons before declaring quietly to me, "I think I'm going to go for full custody."

That time I'd hugged him tight and assured him that he had nothing to worry about.

"I'm scared I'm going to mess her up," he'd confessed. "I'm Richard Castle, playboy extraordinaire. Can I really do any better a job than Mer' at raising her?"

I'd tried to lighten the mood by reminding him that he was, at heart, still just Rick Rogers. (Mr-Freaking-Rogers-Fer-Christ's-Sakes!) How on earth could he possibly mess her up?

Alexis had chosen that moment to wander over for an unsolicited cuddle. He'd ruffled her hair; I'd swiped a tear from his cheek and ruffled his too.

"See? Told you so, you big doofus," I'd grinned. "She loves you, you love her, and you've got nothing to worry about. You're a great father, Rick. Never doubt that. So go and fight for what's yours."

And so here we are again. Rick has something big going on in his head and I, quite frankly, have no idea how it could possibly be connected to a shadowing gig with the N.Y.P.D.

I tamp down the grounds, eyeing him as he shifts his weight from left to right. I wait quietly as the dark roast is forced through the spout, revel in the intoxicating and delicious aroma as the espresso flows down into the rich, steamed milk.

"Rick?" I prod. His eyes clear and a smile blooms on his face. I take a tooth-pick and begin drawing a flower pattern into the foam on top of his cappuccino, waiting him out. I draw out the process, flicking my wrist deftly to create little veins and imperfections onto the leaves now adorning the sepia and creamy white foam. I'm not yet willing to let him escape; not before he at least gives me a little something to chew on.

"The latte's for Detective Beckett." His mouth quirks into an uneven and barely there smile; his eyes gleam, merry and bright.

"Ah..."

I'd know that smile anywhere. Richard Castle is playing coy. I cross my arms across my body, raise a brow and give him a stern look that all but screams, "Dish!"

But it's all becoming clear anyway. This detective is a woman, and she has obviously taken his fancy.

"Oh, shut up," he moans. "It's not like that."

"Right," I say, clearly not believing a word of it. "So tell me what it _is_ like." I smile, reaching over to squeeze his arm as I load the beverages onto a disposable carrier.

"I'll do you one better," he says. He digs around in his laptop bag and with lowered lashes he hands over a well fingered sheaf of pages. I think I might be able to detect even a hint of a blush on the apples of his cheeks.

Well, well. It seems Richard Castle has indeed got something big on his mind.

I would even go so far as imply he might be falling in love. He had walked around with a similar cast of pink to his cheeks before it had all gone to hell in a hand-basket with Kyra.

"Ooh, new fodder!" I exclaim, grabbing the pages with undisguised glee.

"Just read it and... tell me what you think," he says with a bashful shrug of his shoulders.

Rick Castle, nervous about something he's written? It's been a _really _long while since that has happened. It _must_ be serious.

He slides a ten onto the counter and quickly strides, almost runs, out of the _'Hut. B_efore I can even shout out a goodbye, he's left.

I decide it's well past time for my own coffee break. I grab a muffin, quickly snag a seat in the back and begin to read.

* * *

"_It's raining men."_

_Nikki Heat didn't even turn. She just sighed his name. "Rook."_

"_Hallelujah." He held onto his smile until she finally looked at him, shaking her head. "What? It's OK, I don't think he can hear me."_

_She wondered what sort of karma payback it was for her to be saddled with this guy. It wasn't the first time that month she had wondered it, either. The job was hard enough if you were doing it right. Add a reporter with a mouth playing make-believe cop and your day just got a little longer. She backed up to the long flower boxes that deigned the perimeter of the outdoor cafe and looked up again. _

_Rook moved with her. "I would have been here sooner except somebody didn't call me. If I hadn't phoned Ochoa, I would have missed this."_

"_It's just tragedy upon tragedy, isn't it?"_

"_You wound me with your sarcasm. Look, I can't research my article on New York's finest without access, and my deal with the commissioner specifically states—" _

* * *

I read all three chapters he had handed over in impressively short amount of time and sit quietly, smiling to myself. The sexual tension had almost oozed off of the pages, and the easy banter and fast-paced action had compelled me to keep reading, ignoring the shop, until there was simply no more to read. I'm left hanging, excited about his latest venture and in need of another Rook and Nikki fix.

It's obvious that he's drawn heavily from his experiences with this Detective Beckett woman and the faraway look in his eye, the pinking of his cheeks, is now making a whole lot more sense.

Well, well, well. It seems like Ricky Boy has met his match.


	3. Chapter 3

I've started taking on a few more morning shifts again. Actually, it's more than a few; almost all of them. I tell Rick that I'm sick of having all my afternoons and evenings wasted away by work. That I need to try and get on normal schedule, get a life. Maybe even a love life.

Truth be told, I'm more interested in his.

I've never known him to show such patience with a woman, or, for the matter, to rise before noon for one. It's shaping up to be a romance worthy of one of those novels that I most certainly do _not _read anymore.

"Grande skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla. And a bear claw please, Jess. Oh, and the usual for me," he says, strutting into the store.

"I like the cover art, Ricky," I greet. "Hot."

He gives me a cheeky nod and exclaims happily, "I know, _right_? She's gonna kill me!"

"And this is a good thing?"

His eyes light up. "We have a thing."

"A thing...?"

"A banter, a give and take relationship." He pauses. "A jolly repartee if you will."

I roll my eyes. It seems he's feeling cocky today; it must be about time to knock him down a peg or two. "Okay..."

"What?"

"Well Rick, you come waltzing into her life out of nowhere and then proceed to follow her around like a lost puppy dog. Then you go and write one _very_ thinly veiled sex scene involving the two of you. Just don't push too hard if you don't want to blow it with this one. From all you've told me, and if she's anything like what you've let me read of Nikki Heat, this girl may be a hard nut to crack."

"And exactly how did you see _that_ scene already, may I ask?"

Smooth Rick, I think. But don't think I didn't notice you avoiding the subject of Detective Beckett.

He shoots me a pointed glare and I realize I've slipped up.

"_That _wasn't in the chapters I showed you," he continues. "Snooping at the laptop while I'm indisposed again, huh?"

I smirk and leave him hanging for a moment, ignoring him while I finish preparing his order. That's his cue for me to give him my thoughts on what I had read.

He'd come in last week and had immediately gone about his customary routine of laptop leaving and bathroom inspecting. Naturally, I had played my part, had rushed over to read whatever it was that he was nervous about. I'm his unofficial, first-draft editor I guess you could say, and hopefully it always remains that way. Seeing his novels transform from the sometimes rough around the edges ramblings to the insightful and polished work it later becomes is truly an honor that I don't think he realizes how much I cherish.

The scene he'd left displayed for me was unfinished, but it was _good _and had left me dangling for more, had me rushing back to the counter to try and compose my face into an unaffected mask before he returned.

Now, it's a stand-off as we wait each other out. He wants my thoughts and I'm not quite ready to give him the satisfaction. He raises an eyebrow, grinning.

Oh fine, he wins this round. Besides, I wanna know more.

"So you want my opinion on it, or not?"

"Fire away! Sheesh, such a feisty one you are today."

I take a dramatic pause before giving him my thoughts. "It's _hella_ steamy, Rick. May I ask what inspired that little gem? Did you two already..."

"What? No! We danced, that's all!"

He holds his hands up in surrender as though this is an outrageous accusation on my part. I raise my eyebrows skeptically at him. It's not like it was an unfounded assumption. While his affairs are wildly exaggerated, I know he wouldn't turn down the chance with a girl he likes if given half the opportunity. And he _decidedly_ likes this one.

No, he's not what the papers make him out to be; but he most definitely doesn't hurt for a little companionship whenever the mood strikes him.

I should be so lucky.

I press for more information. "Danced, huh?"

"Undercover. I bought her a dress." He closes his eyes and a grin appears on his lips. "Red and sparkly, just a little too tight."

"Uh-huh..." I probably don't want to know where his mind it right now.

He opens his eyes, his face dreamy. "Oh, my God, Jess... You don't know what it took for me to behave myself."

"I can imagine, lover boy." I laugh at him and hand over his purchases. "So, what happened to the caramel latte?"

"Huh?" His brows scrunch together in confusion for a moment. "Oh!"

He is blushing furiously and I know this is gonna be good. He leans in ridiculously close, like he's going to tell me some nefarious state secret.

"You tell a soul, _a soul_, and I will cut you off from all future sneak peaks!" He pauses dramatically, looks around the cafe, and it once again becomes abundantly clear that he is the spawn of the great Martha Rogers.

"Anytime today, Rick."

"I dug in the trashcan at her desk while she was in the lady's room, alright?" he huffs. "The _coffee house that shall not be named_ writes the order right on the cup!"

He looks proud; stupidly proud of himself and his investigative skills. Forget interested, forget liking this girl; he's smitten.

I try to suppress the giggle.

Really, I do!

However, it only increases my mirth and soon I am hysterically laughing at his slightly creepy, yet coming from him, adorable, attempts to impress this woman. His cheeks flush an even deeper shade of crimson as he lifts his coffee to his mouth and tries to cover the blush. My cackling must be contagious because soon the customers waiting behind him in line are confused but snickering, and the girls working behind the counter with me are tittering like schoolgirls.

"I hate you," he hisses at me as he haughtily grabs his order and makes his way to the exit.

"Love you too, babe!" I yell after him. A very unladylike snort somehow manages to escape my nostrils.

I think hear him mumbling something about women being the root of all evil as the door closes with a thud behind him.

* * *

A week or so later, Rick, Martha and Alexis all come in for a late afternoon dose of caffeine.

His girls are giggling and chatting excitably and he is loaded down with more than a few shopping bags. They wave their greetings to me as they pass the counter and proceed to find themselves a table. Rick deposits the bags at their feet and comes over to place their order.

"When did my baby grow up?" he asks.

Pride is oozing from his features and there is just a hint of a wistful smile on his face.

He's right though. It's been close to six months since I have seen Alexis and she has grown out of the awkward and lanky early-teen phase and has blossomed into a gorgeous young woman. Her hair has lightened from the almost startling red of her toddler years and into the most gorgeous shade of strawberry blond. And her skin... I could probably be coerced into killing for her flawless and creamy complexion.

"I don't know Rick, but you've done a hell of a job. I'm proud of you."

I really am. I always knew he had it in him.

There were a few rocky years after Meredith where he struggled to find a balance between being a good father and keeping up appearances for his public persona, but Alexis has always come first. It's obvious he's done a fantastic job from the easy way they interact with each other and the adoring smiles she sends his way. At her age, you would have been hard pressed to get me in the same room as my parents, let alone convince me to be happy about it.

"Aw, thanks Jess. She's going to her first prom tomorrow, you know? I can't believe it. How did that even happen?"

His eyes are looking a little glassy and in the interest of self-preservation, and future snippets of his work, I decide to change the subject. Causing two scenes in succession probably isn't a good idea. Making him cry would probably be as bad, maybe worse, than laughing him out of the store.

"So... how goes Detective Beckett?" I ask, changing the subject with a cheeky grin.

He lets out a small sigh, not necessarily what I would call sad. Maybe just...frustrated. This is definitely a new development. The last few weeks he had been downright chipper when speaking of his adventures with the detective. I hope like hell she hasn't turned him away. The man is well past due to find his mate. I was almost certain from his recent demeanor that this might be the one.

Now, maybe I'm a little sorry I asked.

"Her ex is back in town. Some square-jawed, F.B.I. hotshot with a charming smile and even more charming persona."

I groan inwardly. Surely she wouldn't have run back to a former lover. Everything he's told me about this woman paints her as a lady that sticks by her principles. Rehashing old relationships doesn't strike me as her style.

Not that I actually know her style. I really need to prod him into bringing her here for a quick latte and not so quick grilling.

"There's something else but I..."

Now he looks downright guilty and there is a hint of dread forming in my gut.

"You what?"

"I can't actually tell you anything. It's not mine to tell." He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I believe I did the right thing, but it was probably for the wrong reasons at the time. Or maybe it was the opposite. Wrong thing, right reason. I don't know, Jess. I've probably gone and messed everything up."

Oh jeez, what has he gotten himself into? I wait patiently for him to continue while I go about making their usual orders. It doesn't take long for him to go on.

"I've started a ball rolling and I don't know if I can even make it stop. Hell, I don't even know if I want to. I was talking to Mother earlier though; she made me realize how deep I may have stepped in it. I should probably just tell Kate. But Jess, I have no clue how, and this case we are working is crazy and... ugh! Being the playboy was a whole lot easier, you know?"

The mini-rant is completely confusing and more than a little out of character for Rick. He's usually such a confidant guy, his words concise and carefully chosen, even when relaxed and with friends.

Now I'm definitely sorry I asked.

"Hey, you'll figure it out," I soothe. "Hell, maybe it will work itself out and you won't have to tell her at all," I offer hopefully. "Besides, if she's half the woman you've made her out to be, she'll forgive you. For whatever it is."

"Maybe..." he hedges, not looking at all certain, but the haze lifts a little. "I'm still waiting get some answers and... yeah, maybe you're right."

He gives me a look of such hopeful expectation that I immediately feel the need to dampen his prospects a little. Rick is a naturally optimistic guy and for him to be this morose and unsure of himself is, frankly, a little disturbing. Whatever it is, he's in deep.

"Eventually." I clarify with a gentle pat to his hand. "Eventually things will work out. Now go. Enjoy your family before your drinks get cold."

"You're right," he says, and a touch of the Richard Castle spark returns. "Besides, I've got some teenage-boy hazing to plan!"

And the spark is back. Nothing like a little boyfriend torture to brighten up your day.

"That's my boy!" I cheer.

He walks over to his daughter and demands a kiss before he will hand over the coffee. I hear Martha, tut-tutting him and Lex groaning before succumbing to the aroma of my brew and grudgingly consenting with an eye roll and a kiss to his cheek.

Watching that man with his family never fails to make me smile; they are quite the picture.

I snap out of my reverie when I hear an impatient throat clearing. Looking around the shop, I notice that the line has grown long and irritated. I had unintentionally held up one of the registers while chatting with him. I offer up my apologies and hastily get back to work. I make sure to give them one of the "Next one's on the house!" cards that I keep for occasions such as these.

I shake my head with a tinge of embarrassment as the line shrinks to a more manageable level. Usually it's the new kids needing them.

I miss the night shift. And sleeping in. Rick needs to get his love life in order so that I can once again concentrate on mine.

_You, of course, mean the lack thereof... _

Shut up, brain!

* * *

**You know the drill! I bat my eyelashes, you grovel for more and shower me with praise... Or offer me episodes/issues you'd like covered. I have a pretty long list already, but you never know, maybe you'll think of something that I haven't. **


	4. Chapter 4

It's nearing midnight when he shows up. He nods in my direction and hastily makes his way over to his usual spot; the overstuffed armchair in the back corner. It's a rather tatty looking chair, I probably should have thrown it out years ago, but I simply can't bring myself to be rid of it. That chair has a history. At this point his ass print is probably permanently molded into the comfortable foam batting. I should set a reserved sign on it and save it just for him.

Rick's back on the night shift.

He wears sloppy, unkempt clothes and orders copious amounts of caffeine; excessive even for him. The scruff is back, highlighting the angles of his face, the strong jawline. It's a nice bonus for me, but probably a bad sign for him.

He and I will never be anything more than friends, once having awkwardly started and swiftly halted something almost fifteen years ago, but still, I'm not opposed to a little eye candy. And even on his worst days, with the faded jeans, ratty shirt and three day old beginnings of a beard, the man is a looker. He catches me appreciating his assets as he turns and settles into the chair and I throw him a wink before going about making his cappuccino.

The spark is gone from his eyes, he barely even acknowledges me, and I'm beginning to worry about him. Even after the Kyra affair, it had only been a month or so before he'd thrown himself head first back into life. Sure, he'd overindulged in alcohol and pretty blondes at first, but at least he'd tried.

It was the incident involving the police horse and an exuberant display of nudity that had finally jolted him firmly back into reality. I had hoped it wouldn't come to down to petty misdemeanors again but if this is the alternative...

Then again, while the horse incident and the endless ribbing had been entirely entertaining on my part, I truly did feel for him and the ensuing guilt he had felt. The fiasco still haunted him in the tabloids and I'd once caught the tail end of a conversation with Alexis, giving him hell and demanding apologies, after a school friend had brought it up and felt the need to goad her for her dad's transgressions.

I hope he has a plan, because I am all out of ideas and watching him like this is becoming painful.

He's stopped shadowing his detective and he hasn't been willing to give up any details on the split. It's been two months and he's spent almost every night hunched over his laptop like a man possessed. He's writes furiously, slamming the keys a little too hard while his left leg jiggles up and down in a disjointed rhythm.

I'd suggested a nice soothing cup of chamomile tea a few days ago, hoping to ease some of the nervous wiggling and to soothe my frayed nerves. Also, to maybe coax a little information out of him. It hadn't gone down particularly well. He'd seen right through my intentions and thrown me a warning glare and a stern _"No"._

Smartly, I'd backed off and instead made him yet another large cappuccino. I'd placed a still-warm, freshly baked muffin alongside it, hoping to at least provide some semblance of nutrition; banana with chocolate-chips, his favorite. Not exactly a wholesome meal but at least something to sop up the coffee and stave off an ulcer. He'd thrown me a tight-lipped smile of thanks and resumed to the frenzy of tapping at the keyboard. The muffin had disappeared and I'd smiled to myself, happy to be able to provide at least some minor semblance of help.

Tonight, I sit across from him, watching. I had silently brought him his coffee and didn't even bother to attempt with social niceties. He'll come out of his funk sooner or later, I've decided. Eventually, he'll be contrite, apologize for being an ass and thank me for my never-ending supply of java. I can wait.

It's been three hours and I've only had four other customers. Quick takeout orders, leaving me plenty of time to watch him. While his current state of mind is troubling, I envy his seemingly never ending supply of words. I struggle sometimes to even write a page and if I were to guess, I'd say he's written at least two chapters since he sat down earlier.

The shop has been quiet as of late but it's not surprising. Hot summer nights lend themselves more to cool lemonades, iced tea, or frozen concoctions doused in rum, rather than to steaming caffeinated beverages and baked goods. It's pretty much been just me and him burning the midnight hours for the last month or so, punctuated by the occasional patron stumbling in for a cup of drip to try and negate the effects of too much alcohol.

It's my favorite time of year, even if it is a little hard on the finances.

I've caught up on all the books I'd put off reading over the winter and have even written some of my own material. Quite a lot, actually. My novel is coming along nicely. After years of procrastination, I've finally settled on one of my ideas. I've focused and set out a time each day to write; I've gotten into the habit and it feels good. My book is a historical fiction involving a well-off but aloof family and the dynamics of five sisters and their struggles to become women; their love lives, heartbreak, and the atrocities of World War II.

One of these days, I might get the nerve to show it to him. Soon, I hope. Before I lose myself again to the daily grind of running my own business.

As soon as the first nip of fall air begins to settle into the city, my little shop will once again be overrun with patrons, desperate for the warmth and the comforting aroma of deep-roasted beans. The smooth and even-textured liquid will once again travel down their throats and into their veins. Their relapse from only the morning fix will again dive into all-out addiction, assuring that the _Hut_ lives to serve another year. Soon, my coffers will overflow, and I might just start on the renovation endeavor I've been putting off for the last few years.

"Done!" he exclaims abruptly.

It sends a jolt to my nerves, breaking me out of my reverie. I find myself daydreaming and spacing out more often than I'd care to admit. It must be the old age; I'll be forty-three this year. Sometimes it's hard to believe that I'm not the sprite, young, twenty-two year old I had been when we first met.

"The book?" I inquire, trying to hide my surprise at his sudden outburst.

"Mhmm," he grins enigmatically, stretching his long arms and leaning back into the chair.

It's a full and genuine smile. One I have seen far too little of recently.

Maybe they are correct when they say that writing is a form of therapy. He looks lighter than I've seen him in months.

I feel it myself when life's small troubles pile up and the familiar sense of melancholy begins to set in. A day spent with a fresh journal, scratching down my random thoughts or, if lucky, even a new chapter of my novel, never fails to lift my mood. The simple act of putting it out there, reading it, re-reading it, and realizing that in the grand scheme of things, my troubles are not worth all the angst I've assigned to them.

I'm glad that the savage pace he has set for himself seems to have had the same effect for him. It's as though he's been hit by a magic wand, the wrinkles that had made a permanent place on his brow easing and smoothing out a touch. A slight hint of a smile plays across his lips; he has something on his mind.

"What?" I ask.

A devilish smirk slowly transforms into a full-on grin and his voice is light and happy when he speaks. "I have a standing offer from _Cosmo_ for an interview once the book is finished. And now it is."

He cracks his knuckles and places the laptop confidently onto the table beside him. "They want a look behind-the-scenes. Heard about my stint with the N.Y.P.D. and want a look inside there as well."

Oh God, I know exactly where he is going with this. This is most likely a terrible plan. Is this the best he's got?

"A little prodding from the mayor and she will _have_ to take me back."

"Are you sure forcing yourself back into her life is a good idea, Rick?"

"Never been more sure of anything, Jess. Trust me, she won't be able to resist my charms."

"Mhmm..." I'm doubtful to say the least.

"She'll take me back. You'll see."

He states it with such certainty, and while I'm happy that the Rick I know and love is back, I'm not too sure it's going to be all that easy.

I scoff as he begins to pack away his belongings. It seems she's been doing a pretty good job of resisting so far.

I'm actually a little in awe of this woman I have yet to meet.

I had thought that Rick had perfected the art of the conquest. Watching him squirm over this one has been a welcome change and a comforting revelation that there is still hope for my gender. The never-ending parade of women on his arm had sometimes become a little disheartening. He rarely acted past a first date and a promise to call that he seldom kept, but the women were all too eager and ever so vapid.

I find myself rooting for Rick and this detective, if for no other reason than the fact that she is not one of them.

"Yeah, well.. Just don't push too hard, Rick. I don't want to see you get hurt and it seems as though you've already hurt her, even if you won't tell me any of the details. Just… take it slow, yeah?"

_Don't mess this one up_, I try to convey with a pointed glare.

He cocks his head slightly to the side, considering. Finally, he nods. But the spark is still there behind the thoughtful gaze. He's definitely not going to back out of this _Cosmo_ plan.

I hope to hell he knows what he's doing.

"You want a coffee before you go?" I ask, making no effort to actually rise. My feet ache, I'm dead tired and it's another two hours until my relief is due to arrive. I yawn, adding in a little bit of melodramatic flair; patting my mouth around the yawning and stretching my legs languidly.

"Don't get up," he says, catching on to my obvious ploy. "I got it."

I smirk at him and watch as he expertly handles the espresso machine, glad that I have passed on this knowledge during our years together.

"Don't forget the.."

"Honey, I know." He cuts me off, dramatically shudders and makes a gagging motion with two fingers in his mouth.

"How you drink this crap is beyond me," he says of my new, favorite concoction.

I generally agree with him; that sweetening the fine grounds is something slightly akin to sacrilege. But I'd begun drinking it a few months previously, the _Store That Shall Not Be Named_ having run a summer special on it. Being on the other end of town and needing a fix, they were my closest stop and the sign advertising a 'honey latte' had lured me in. I'd ordered the drink not knowing what to expect but curious, certain that I'd find the brew revolting.

I find the syrups that a lot of my customers prefer to be sickeningly sweet and often find myself wondering why they bother with coffee at all. They could grab a Coke for half the price and receive just as much sugar and caffeine.

Not that I'll actually tell them that. The 'froufrou' drinks make up a good half of my business. A girl has got to eat after all.

That first sip, pure honey and perfectly steamed foam had been delicious. Not as cloying as a syrup, the natural sweetener had accented rather than obscured the brew. I had begrudgingly accepted that Starbucks might be onto something. My second sip however, had been a complete disappointment. The barista had explained to me that since the honey had a tendency not to dissolve evenly in the coffee, they used a syrup for the drink and pure honey only as a drizzle on the foam. Once the foam had ended, so too had my delicious experience.

So while Rick had spent the summer alternating between writing and generally being in a bad mood, I had spent those same nights perfecting the honey latte.

"Don't knock it until you try it," I reply. "And don't forget to…"

"Warm the honey in a beaker of hot water while the espresso brews. I know."

Good, it seems he's been paying some attention after all.

"You need it really runny or it will clump."

He rolls his eyes, a new habit, but complies with my request.

"Picky, picky, picky," he huffs as he finishes making the drink and walks over to set the cup down in front of me.

"Thanks," I smile, testing the brew. It's perfect, of course.

"No. Thank _you_, Jess."

"For what?" I reply absently, delighting in the drink. "You did all the work. This is good by the way." I gesture to the cup.

"For the summer." he says seriously, his voice deep, washing over me like an embrace.

His eyes are warm and sincere, melting my heart just a little. I really do wonder how this lady detective can resist him.

"Anytime, Ricky boy," I grin, pleased to have helped him, even if it only entailed actually doing my job. Making coffee and providing him with a comfortable silence wasn't really much of a sacrifice. "You can repay me the usual way. First edition. Signed and sitting in my lap, as soon as possible."

"I'll do you one better," he states, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, blue stick. "Heat Wave, finished and ready for the editor."

He waves it cheekily around my face, pulling it away as I make a grab for the thumb drive.

"You want?" he smirks.

"If you don't want me to collect on all those comps, you had better hand that over right this minute!" I cry petulantly.

"Not a soul..." he says, as he hands it over with a smile.

"Pfft, as if anyone would want to read this garbage anyway," I say, quickly rising, pocketing the drive and shuffling him towards the door.

The sooner I can get rid of him, the sooner I can start reading.

"You wound me!" he cries as he opens the front door of the shop. A blast of sticky air assaults me and I wish this damn summer would be over with already. It's barely dawn, the sky a mixture of deep blue, green and gold, and already it's stifling outside.

"_You_ wound me," I retort, "When have I_ever_? I would never let anyone see…"

I huff and puff, only slightly insulted that he would imply that I would let anyone get a hold of the copy, yet milking it for all it's worth. I am not above sending him on a guilt trip every so often. Besides, he knows me better than that and he must pay.

"I know, I know," he chuckles, kissing me lightly on the cheek. "You're one of the few that I do trust. Don't ever forget that, Jess."

I get that warm and fuzzy feeling, one that only he and his genuine sincerity, his fierce sense of loyalty, can provide. All my plans of needling him for a while before he leaves fade swiftly away as he pulls me in for a hug. He proceeds to pat me on the head like I'm a small child and suddenly I get the distinct feeling he's gained the upper hand.

"Good luck with Detective Beckett." I state, pulling out of his arms and poking him in the chest.

"Thanks," he grins, all confidence and certainty in his powers of persuasion. "But I won't need it."

"Oh, you'll need it," I smirk.

He rolls his eyes but I see a distinct flash of anxiety flit across those baby blues.

Upper hand squarely back in my court, I push him out the door so I can get started on Heat Wave.

* * *

**Oh looky here, another update. I really am spoiling you guys. This chapter got one hell of an update and almost doubled in size. Perhaps KBex needs to make an appearance soon? **

**You guys are simply the sauciest of awesomesauce. I'm so glad that people are reading this this time around. Thank you to my FB gals for prodding me to try again. You all rock!**


	5. Chapter 5

It seems I have a new regular.

She's quiet and comes in late at night. She's unpredictable too; sometimes coming in every night for a week and then not returning for a few days, sometimes weeks. I wonder what it is that keeps her from sleeping, that brings her here late at night when she clearly has a day job, when the dusky circles under her eyes could most definitely benefit from a solid eight hours of rest. She dresses professionally, looking like the countless other nine to fivers I serve, wears 'power heels' that I imagine preclude her from any job involving too much walking around. A desk job, I assume. We've begun chatting a little but nothing too profound.

Yet.

We share a friendly greeting and make comments on the weather, sometimes share an eye-roll and a smile, directed towards an impatient patron. But she'll open up eventually. The ones like this always do.

Sometimes I think that the barista has become the new hair stylist. People see me everyday, some of them two or three times a day, and we begin to strike up a rapport. There are, of course, the people who simply order, pay, and leave with their order and little more than a nod but then there are the others.

The group of people, who from the first time they order, offer a few more seconds of eye contact; the ones that smile and say _thanks_ when they receive their order. I like these ones.

Soon, we are greeting each other like old friends and I know the names of their pets and children, the gripes they have with their significant others, and the fact that although they'd never request it because they don't want to sound demanding, they'd really prefer it if I skipped the foam on top of their latte. I notice the small things, like when they scrape the foam off with a stirrer and discreetly place it into the trash or a napkin; I omit the foam the next time and they smile in thanks when they feel the extra weight of the cup. I'll give them a pastry on the house and they will slip me a nugget of information in return.

I change names, adjust scenarios, and write another chapter in my novel.

_This_ woman however, is a mystery.

She orders a chai latte and quietly reads her books over in what I have affectionately named 'Rick's chair'. It's fast becoming _her_ chair as well. It's fairly lucky they haven't run into each other and begun a feud over who has seating rights.

Although Rick has been scarce of late, there was a period of a few weeks, when Rick was finishing up _Heat Wave,_ that they missed each other by mere minutes. It probably doesn't hurt that it's the most comfortable seat in my somewhat eclectic collection of thrift store and antique auction finds. She seems to be a fan of the crime genre, and I think it's rather fitting that she chooses his chair.

I've seen Patterson and Connelly in her hands, a hardcover copy of _A Study in Scarlet _with the dust jacket still in pristine condition. She had taken the time to carefully set the jacket on the table while she read so as not to cause harm and I know she's an avid reader to have had that particular book. It's part of a box-set, a very expensive set, that I myself had spent more than I probably should have on a few years back. Taking the time to protect the tome had warmed me to her instantly and you simply can't beat Holmes for as far as a good mystery novel goes.

_Sorry Rick._

She intrigues me, and I can't help but study her as she unassumingly reads in the corner. It's quiet tonight; just her, myself, and a young man studying for a final with his head buried in a book and the insistent buzz of techno seeping out from under his headphones. The mystery woman is deep into her book with her brow furrowed, teeth digging into her lips and her tea going cold.

It will be a few more hours until the nightclubs close and my pre-dawn rush of drunken idiots will begin, so I have plenty of time to observe her. Why does she always make an effort to smile and say thank you and yet never offer up much more? Why does she stick strictly to benign topics and how can I learn her story? If she doesn't want to share, why would she not just order her beverage and go home?

Outwardly, she doesn't seem to want to strike up a conversation and yet there's a flicker of something... the way she occasionally catches my eye as though she's about to say something, her lips parting for a second before she quickly withdraws back into herself. I want her to open up to me. It seems like there's more than meets the eye with this one.

She's reading _Storm Fall_ tonight and it tickles me that she is reading that particular book in the very chair that a good portion of it was first penned. I can tell when she reaches Derricks death, by the point she's at in the book, how many pages she has left to turn, but also by the way she takes a deeper breath and chews on her thumb nail. It's not much of a reaction, she's obviously read the book before (judging by the deep creases in the spine, probably quite a few times), but it's there. That Derrick's death still touches her, brings a smile of affection to my face. I'm still sad about it too, and mad at Rick. Could he not have just retired his hero?

As she gently closes the book and slips it into her purse, I decide that tonight is the night. Tonight, I am going to break the ice and dig a little deeper. I'd probably grow old and die if I were to wait on her. Books seems like a safe and easy topic and I'm always eager to hear what other people think of Rick's work; I decide to dive in.

_Easy with this one, Jess._

I pick up a rag and some lemon scented cleaning product. Quietly, I ease my way towards her, giving the tables and counters along the way an unnecessary second cleaning. She smiles in my direction as I swipe at the table adjacent to hers and I take it as my invitation to proceed.

"Good read?" I ask, gesturing to her purse.

"Yeah," she says in a soft voice, with a smile I can't quite place. "I love Castle's books."

She almost looks.. chagrined. That's a bit odd.

"Me too," I smile back. "Although I have to admit, I wanted to strangle him when he killed off Derrick Storm."

"I've wanted to strangle Castle myself a few times, too," she says, smirking and eyes sparkling.

Definitely odd. It feels like she's holding something back. Like she wants to divulge something but won't allow herself.

But then who am I to judge. I'm poking into her thoughts while she sits in the _very chair_ of the_ very man_ who wrote our current topic of conversation. I'd love to blurt out that the book she'd just finished reading included an almost verbatim conversation that Rick and I had shared by this very article of furniture.

I keep those thoughts to myself.

I don't like to advertise my friendship with Rick. An incident with a seemingly pleasant and respectable young college student, a few years back, had soured me on the idea of revealing my relationship with the author to anyone but close friends. We'd struck up a similar conversation to the one that I'm having with this woman and I'd offered to get her book signed. It had ended up with the woman camping out at my store at all hours of the day, Rick being practically molested as he'd entered the door, and a restraining order when it had occurred three times subsequently. I'd apologized profusely and promised never to play publicist again. Rick had laughed it off and included it, in a roundabout fashion, in his next book.

"Can't wait to read the Nikki Heat book," I offer up. "I hear he's got a new detective all planned out and ready to go."

"Hmm, yeah," she mutters. "I'm also waiting to get my hands on a copy."

I detect a hint of frustration in her voice and am left completely confused. She definitely likes his books; has to be a fan to not even ask about Nikki. She's a regular on the website for sure. I can tell by the smile as she read and the care she took with her copy of _Storm Fall_ too. It's not Rick's best work if I am being completely honest. It wasn't at all... _bad..._ but she's a hardcore fan if she chooses that one to read over. _A Rose For Ever After_ would have been my choic_e. _

"Well, it's going to be released soon. I heard there was going to be an article about it. Although I don't think I'll bother reading it; it's always puff in those magazine pieces and I haven't bought a _Cosmo_ since I was in my teens. One can only take so many surveys and be told so many times how to please a man before wanting to throw up and/or hurt somebody."

She laughs, her voice merry and her light brown eyes shining, tiny flecks of green appearing and disappearing as she angles towards the light, and I notice for the first time how striking she is when the pensive grimace is not adorning her face.

"Well, I think I might check it out," she says with a grin. "See what the man has to say for himself. But yeah, I know what you mean. I think I'll skip the 'swallow if you want to keep him' section."

She rolls her eyes and I laugh, maybe a snort a little. I like this woman. Swallow if you want to keep him _was_ pretty much the basis for at least half of what I remember reading in _Cosmo_ back when I was an eager young girl, wanting to learn the secrets of womanhood, for the low, low price of five dollars and the cloying aroma of perfume and glue. She's probably a good decade younger than me but it seems the magazine mustn't have changed much since I was a subscriber.

"So what brings you here so late at night?" I ask, checking my watch and noting that it's nearing midnight. "Not that I'm not glad for your company. It's gets pretty lonely here on the late shift."

Very lonely, I think. Rick has been missing for the past month or so and I can only gather that he has managed to weasel his way back into his detective's good graces. He had better show up when _Heat Wave_ comes out. I'm eagerly awaiting the final draft of the novel that I'm already in love with.

She pauses and the light leaves her eyes, her pretty hazel becoming a deep russet brown. I see her mentally deciding whether to share, her eyebrows raise a touch and she eyes me up an down. I hold my breath to hear her reply, noting how her eyes soften when she decides that I'm safe.

"Sometimes the soft buzz of your store... the low hum of people talking, the quiet jazz, a good book... is more soothing than the deafening silence and overabundance of time to think in my apartment."

Oh.

The sadness behind her eyes brings a prick of tears to my own and I realize that this woman has a back story deeper than anything I had previously ascribed to her. I wonder how she manages to be so cheerful and polite in her daily life (what little I have observed from my position behind the espresso machine) when there is so much pain lurking right there at the surface. I'm surprised I've never noticed it before; she hides it extremely well.

I squeeze her shoulder and pick up her empty cup.

"I should get going," she murmurs. She packs up her belongings and heads towards the door.

"Well, anytime you want some spiced tea and company, I'm your gal. Any fan of Richard Castle is a friend of mine. You've got good taste, if I do say so myself," I say, pointing to the stack of Castle novels on a shelf behind the counter. "I enjoyed chatting with you tonight."

"Yeah. Me too." She smiles as she opens the door. "I'll see you around," she calls as the bell tinkles behind her.

I hope so.

I realize that I still don't know her name or what she does as I wash up the coffee mugs.

I'm losing my touch.

* * *

**OMG! I wonder who this woman could be! *wink***


	6. Chapter 6

The _Hut_ is insane.

A pop star has died and someone chose the other end of my street as a good enough place to hold the makeshift tribute. The store is packed to capacity and I have called in all my staff. Teenagers lounge on my furniture, legs are splayed haphazardly between the tables, and I fear for my lungs with the amount of body odor and the various sprays trying to mask it. Loud voices echo off of the high rafters in the open ceiling, high pitched giggles breaking through the hush of sniffles and quiet tears. A few courageous adults grimace in the corners; some accompanying the teens, others having the misfortune of needing a hit of caffeine and then stumbling into _this_ madhouse.

We are all working as fast as we can but the line never dwindles. It's starting to grate on my nerves. Unfortunately, I've pulled a double shift. My usual guy who takes the morning stint had called in with a case of the flu just an hour before his shift was scheduled to start. My feet are hurting and need somewhere to rest. My head is pounding and could use a good long stretch of sleep. My patience is stretched thin and I'd like nothing more than to kick everybody out, make my way home, and sink into a hot bath.

It's not that I dislike these kids; they are great and I feel for them. Stunned and saddened, my friends and I had stumbled into an Italian restaurant after Kurt Cobain had died, looking for this very same kind of peace; the kind that only mass congregation can provide. We'd sobbed over pasta carbonara and cheap red wine, shared stories and sung his songs. I remember that we'd kept the store open until well past closing time, the owner being kind enough not to kick us out. These kids are hurting and need somewhere to congregate.

I also know that none of them would regularly come in here, the Starbucks across the street with the hip music and the more reliable source of Wifi being their hangout of choice. I'm not worried this will become a regular occurrence and so I'm happy (as far as an achy-footed, pounding-headed, middle-aged woman can be at midnight) to oblige.

I _am_ however a little worried that Rick's chair may not survive the round of heavy petting that's currently going on over in its somewhat secluded location in the store. I make a note to buy a large can of Lysol. Just in case.

"_People change then instantly, I'm not the same girl I used to be.."_

I smile as I hear the soft, pretty voice... and groan a little at the choice of song. It's all I've heard the entire evening. The gathering in honor of Haley Blue has had people coming in all night looking for a quick caffeine fix and a reprieve from the cold; a good portion of them have been humming this song. This voice though, is surprisingly good, and doesn't hold the note of a stuffy nose or a scratched raw throat that most of them have had. When I raise my eyes from the espresso machine it's an even greater surprise; none other than my elusive Castle fan. I haven't seen her for a good two weeks.

Last time I'd seen her, she was in a huff. I'd motioned to my worn copy of _Diamonds Are Forever _and mentioned that it would be cool if Castle wrote _Bond _novels. I had been trying to feel out her response to the offer Rick had mentioned that morning as he'd ordered his usual; a cappuccino for him and his detective's vanilla latte.

The offer had intrigued me, and although I'd miss Nikki Heat if he decided to stop writing her, I'd always loved the spy novels and was eager to see how Rick would approach the legendary character. I'd expected her reaction to be the same. Rick's _Heat_ series excited me but James Bond was... well it was _Bond! _A look of surprise had frozen her features before she'd muttered something about James Bond being overrated, and then left before we could talk anymore. I'd stood there for a good five minutes pondering why she could possibly dislike _007, _coming to absolutely no conclusions.

She looks happy tonight though; and it's enough to greatly improve my mood. She's a familiar face in a sea of strangers.

"You don't seem the Haley Blue type?" I question with a smirk as I begin working on her usual chai.

"Ha! No, not really. I'd never even heard of her until a few days ago." She fiddles with her scarf and cocks her head to the side, a wide smile transforming her face. "But you've got to admit, the song _is_ rather catchy."

She has a point. I've caught myself humming it a few times this evening. It could be worse, it could be Bieber. It took _months_ for me to get that ridiculous "Baby" song out of my head.

"So did you finish reading _Heat Wave _yet?" I ask as I add my special blend of spices to the strong, black tea. I refuse to use that syrupy stuff a certain other store uses. Sure, my chais take a few minutes to make, instead of a quick thirty seconds, but the difference is discernible. I think that the trade off, quality versus speed, is worth it.

There's no need to ask if she's started the book; she's a fan. I'd be willing to bet she went out and bought it the very first day it was on the shelves. I want to hear what she thinks, Rick loves to get unbiased reviews by way of me and my probing into customer's lives.

"Mmm, that smells heavenly," she says as the tea and spices steep and I begin steaming the milk. "And yeah, I read it."

She's trying to hide it, her lips quiver and her eyes sparkle a brilliant green for just a second. Then all of a sudden, a goofy grin is plastered all over her face and I know exactly what scene she is thinking of.

"Page one-oh-five... _hot_ huh?"

"Yeah, it was... alright," she hedges.

Oh no, I'm not letting her out of this one. She's knows that scene well enough to know the page number.

_Pot calling the kettle black, Jess?_

Ignoring my traitorous mind, I study her as I pour the milk into her cup and scoop a small layer of foam on top. There is a hint of a blush on the apples of her cheeks and she is avoiding my gaze. Now I simply _have_ to get a reaction out of her.

"_Alright?"_ I gush_._ "It had me fanning myself, reaching for a cold compress, and dreaming of having my very own writer to follow me around. Admit it, it was more than good. And then the build up...God! Makes me want to reconsider my decades-old decision to never drink tequila again."

Rick really had outdone himself with that scene. Usually, he tends to focus more on the intricacies of the mystery rather than the personal lives of his protagonists. _Heat Wave_ had been a surprise, a welcome one, and the case hadn't been too bad either. I need to read _more_, and now that _Bond_ is off the table, the three book _Heat_ deal being too great for him to resist, I hope that this detective he's shadowing doesn't let him down. I don't know what he had been more excited about; being able to continue following his detective, or the obscene amount of money they had offered him.

"Alright, alright," she admits, holding up her hands in surrender. "It was hot. It was downright steamy. Not his usual style, but I could certainly get used to it."

"I bet you could," I smirk.

She flinches slightly at that and bites at the corner of her lip. There is a barely audible pop as she releases, her lips a deep crimson where her teeth had sunk in. She doesn't seem like the type to be embarrassed by a little innuendo and once again I get the distinct impression that I'm missing out on something.

Shaking off the feeling, I continue with my inquiries. Thirty more seconds and she will be gone, her tea is already made and I'm stalling. It's busy tonight, and her... his... _the_ chair, is still being abused by the teenage couple who are now having maybe a little _too_ much fun.

I don't want to be a spoil-sport, but really, would it kill them to at least _try_ and keep it discreet? I am hopelessly grateful that their clothes are still on.

"So why are you so happy looking this evening?"

"Am I?" she asks, touching the backs of her hands lightly to her cheeks, as though checking for heat.

"Hot date?" I prod.

Now she really_ is _blushing. Her cheeks flush a deep pink and she angles her head down, away towards the door. I can visualize the wheels spinning in her mind; she's planning her escape. She digging in her purse, getting out cash and placing it on the counter.

_Crap! Smooth move, Jess._

"Huh?... Oh... No, No! Nothing like that," she recovers, and the secretive smile returns. "Just ended up at the tribute with a friend of mine and his family. It was a nice night, you know? A welcome reprieve from work."

Yep, there's definitely something going on there. I'm fairly certain she let out a little sigh at the mention of his family and I now know for sure that the woman is smitten. The mention of my ex-husband's family, even in the best of times, didn't make me sigh contentedly. She not only likes this man, she likes his family too. A lot. I decide to let her off the hook and hand over her chai with a knowing smile.

"It was good seeing you again. Don't be a stranger, okay? I'd love to discuss books with you again too; Castle or otherwise." I gesture to the growing line, and then over to the teenagers now doing a pretty accurate interpretation of a pretzel. It's impressive really, considering the tight quarters they have to work with. "But maybe sometime when the cafe isn't quite so... insane."

She laughs and throws me a small wave as she heads out the door.

"Sounds like fun, have a good night."

I could kick myself.

My incessant need to live vicariously through other people's love lives has just missed me a prime opportunity to find out what she does for a living. I had my opening and I blew it!

_Shit! I didn't even get her name. Again! _

* * *

**I apologize to Starbucks. I really don't hate them. Promise. I am a regular addict and my very own Jess always has my latte made by the time I reach the registers. Maybe it's just my mind's way of getting over the obscene amount of money I spend there. A little passive aggressive behavior on my brain's part.**

**Also, again, yes this is a repost until chapter 8 or 9ish when it will be entirely new. Although a LOT has changed and been rearranged and you might want to read it from the beginning anyway. **

**Love to all who have taken the minute to review. I am absolutely awful about replying to them individually, but do know that each and every one puts a spring in my step and keeps me coming back for more.**

**Thanks to Avi for pointing out the unintentional lesbian moment (whoops!), and to AnnieXMuller (go read her stuff) for pointing out that I was being a Drama Llama and that writing really isn't as HARD as I was making it out to be. **


	7. Chapter 7

The morning rush has just wound down and a lone customer sits in a corner of the store, engrossed in a laptop. I'm giving the floors a quick mop and am already dreading the lunch crowd when Rick walks in.

His shoulders are slumped, his brow creased, and his jaw is tight. He takes the mop from my hand without even a glance and takes over the chore, waves me absently over to a chair and quietly continues swabbing the rough stone tiles. I eye him curiously but bite my tongue, figuring that I'll give him a minute or two. I'm sure that he'll spill whatever is bothering him when he's ready.

However, the minutes tick by, and nothing but the soft swish of the mop against the tiles can be heard. I'm imagining crickets chirping, hearing elevator music in my head, waiting; at any minute I fear tumbleweeds might go careening across the store.

When he's not forthcoming, and as the bell tinkles with the laptop customer's departure, I simply cannot take the silence any longer. Walking over to a chair directly in his line of vision, I take a seat and look at him with an expectant glare.

Nothing. He continues mopping and completely ignores my proximity.

"Morning Rick," I say, trying for nonchalance in my greeting.

"Morning Jess," he finally mumbles, throwing me the briefest glimpse of eye contact before continuing with what should be _my_ cleaning duties.

He's looking good this morning; he has consistently for the last few months if I think about it. He's wearing a deep crimson shirt that somehow brings out the blue of his eyes, a dark brown sport coat and a red cashmere scarf. Black pants, perhaps a hair too tight, hug his rounded rear end; it's a pleasing view that I can't help but admire. No doubt about it, his relationship with the detective has its perks. Never has he made such an effort to look so consistently good. Public events and a night on the town, sure, but never _all_ the time. I haven't seen a worn and saggy pair of jeans or a ratty t-shirt in months. The scruffy, keeper of irregular hours, writing-coma Rick seems to be a thing of the past.

I may have to make an effort to pull a few more morning shifts. The eye-candy is a delightful start to my day.

He dips the mop in the bucket and swirls it around a bit to remove the dirty water. As he's wringing it out and flopping it back on the floor, he splashes water down his pant leg, leaving an unfortunate looking stain. He lets out an obscenity and I chuckle quietly to myself as I continue my observations.

He looks ridiculous mopping my floors while wearing that outfit and I simply can't help the smug grin that plasters itself on my face. I lean back into the comfortable lounge chair, watching, enjoying the show. Waiting. I'm not going to stop him.

I'm not an imbecile, after-all. He's doing rather a good job, and besides that, my feet ache. If he wants to work out his frustrations by cleaning my coffee shop, who am I to argue? I smother another laugh as I consider laying out the Windex and a cleaning rag.

I wander over to the counter and grab myself a muffin, wondering if he's upset enough to squeegee my storefront windows. They are well past due for a cleaning. New York City has a way of layering a never-ending sheen of dirt, construction dust and car exhaust on everything. Keeping it at bay is an unceasing battle. I pick at the muffin as he continues scrubbing my floors.

His eyes had held a flicker of... _something_ when he had muttered his hushed greeting. To the outside world, I'm sure he is still his usual, jaunty self; easy with his smile and quick with a joke. Dapper and dashing to the extreme, he'll be sure to project the Rick Castle that everybody knows and loves. His eyes though, in the brief moment that he had allowed contact, were clouded and an icy hue of blue. Rick, the man and not the persona, had shown through for just a second; the facade had dropped. The usual flecks of deep steel and cobalt blue had been absent, and the amused spark that normally accompanies his gaze had been lacking.

He is a million miles away. He looks pensive, nervous, like he's contemplating the mysteries of the universe in the swirls and specks of the slate tile.

I've finished the muffin and he's still mopping. Moping too. I stroll back to the seating area and find a chair, prop my feet up on a coffee table and scrutinize him, wondering what on earth has him so on edge, what has brought him here so early in the morning? What has distracted him so much that he has forgone the now routine order for himself and the detective?

He's definitely here to talk; he's looking for my own special brand of pseudo-therapy and ass-kicking. That much is clear. That he's not going to his mother or daughter gives me a pretty good idea that the problem is female-related. The question is, which one? And what's taking him so long to tell me about it?

I'm fairly certain it's not the detective. He's a veritable fountain of information when it comes to her. Gushing wouldn't be an overstatement. I haven't seen him this contemplative, this messed up, since...

Oh. Crap. No, it couldn't be. It's been almost twenty years.

"Out with it," I finally say, not willing to wait him out any longer, the suspense killing me.

He jolts into awareness and for a moment I almost feel bad for him. He rests the mop against the counter and gives me a wary look.

Is that guilt I see marring his expression?

"I saw Kyra last night..."

God. That's what I had suspected. Two weddings and two divorces, two decades, but neither of his marriages had had him brooding like Kyra. She was his first love and it had ended unexpectedly and painfully. For both of them. It was a wound left not quite healed, just waiting to be re-opened, but better left untouched if it could be helped.

He flops himself into the chair beside me and winces, waiting for my onslaught.

I'd nursed many a Kyra-induced hangover after their split; surely he knows what my stance is going to be on the matter. Enjoy the memories, but don't repeat the mistakes. It's written all over his face. He knows. Shame, and a large helping of self-flagellation is etched into his pensive stare.

"And?" I prod.

There is more to this story that he's not sharing.

"We kissed..." he hedges.

It comes out almost as a question. He's still holding back. His eyes carry a flicker of pain, a brief flash of longing; his posture screams guilt.

"And?"

"She's getting married," he sighs.

_Oh brother!_

Even after his confession, the guilt still lingers on his features. I hope to God he didn't sleep with her. Surely, he's not _that_ stupid.

"_And?" _I press on, becoming slightly exasperated with the slow trickle of information he's feeding me. He came here for my advice, didn't he? The lunch rush will soon be upon us and I don't want to see him leaving just as upset as he entered. He's running out of time. Though I have an itch to smack some sense into him, compassion wins out and I continue with my soft probing.

"Just spit it out, Rick," I soothe. "Fast like a band-aid. Better that way," I assure him.

He collapses into himself, groaning, rests his head in his hands and offers me a weak sidelong glance. There's a hint of a smile finally and he takes a deep breath before rushing headlong into his admission. It comes out in a jumble of words, on a single faltering breath.

"She's a suspect in a murder Beckett and I are investigating; a murder at _her_ wedding. She didn't do it, Jess, I know it, but Beckett, she's gonna.. she told me to stay away from her."

I give him a moment to collect himself while I bite back the urge to call him a multitude of disparaging names.

_Really? How could he?_

"I'm an idiot. You can say it," he moans.

And with one doleful look and that earnest tone of voice, he's forgiven.

"You're an idiot," I smile, with a gentle pat to his leg as I rise.

"Thanks Jess," he deadpans.

"Welcome, Ricky." I squeeze his hand on the way past, pick up the mop and place it in the supply closet. I begin making his cappuccino, and gesture towards the stack of empty cups. "So... we gonna need a _Beckett_ this morning?"

"Uh... yeah, please."

"You wanna talk about it? Or are you happy for me to just continue calling you an ass?"

I fiddle with the steamer, turning it to full, being careful to slowly lower the pitcher and not to allow too much air to enter the milk and ruin the texture.

"There's nothing there anymore," he says. "With Kyra, I mean. It was nice though..." He smiles, obviously remembering. "Kind of like the goodbye kiss we never got. Closure, forgiveness, all of it. I'm glad I saw her. Good memories, you know?"

He still looks pensive.

"But?"

"Do I tell Beckett that I saw her? She's gonna kill me."

Ah, his detective. Of course.

"Oh, I don't think she'll kill you... maybe just... _maim_ you a little."

I smirk, enjoying his discomfort as he shoots panicked eyes in my direction.

"You have to tell her, Rick. You're working this case with her, right? Basically her partner? If nothing else, and I don't believe for a second that there's_ nothing_ else, not with the way you talk about her... if nothing else though, you have to let her know before she finds out anyway and you get yourself mixed up on the wrong side of this investigation."

He nods slowly, accepting my advice, even though the pained expression is still clearly shadowing his features. I place his beverages in a to-go carrier and slide them towards him.

"Banana chip muffin for the road?" I offer with a grin, picking up the fresh-baked morsel with tongs and waving it in front of his nose.

A soft glint returns to his eyes with a small smile. He nods.

"Thanks, Jess," he says, whipping the muffin out of my grasp and taking a bite. "You're the greatest," he mumbles around the treat.

Crumbs fall out of his mouth as he speaks and I laugh, reaching over the counter to brush them away."I know. Now go take your penance like a big boy."

He rolls his eyes and walks out of the store looking at least _marginally_ better. The guilt is still there, the nervous energy still bubbling around at the surface, but I feel like our chat has at least set him on a path back to normal.

Well, maybe not normal. Rick Castle is anything but normal, I think warmly. That's why I love him.

He's a good man though, and honest. He'll do the right thing.

* * *

**A big huge thanks to Kellie, who not only read this through for me, but also left me pondering just how awesome NF's "tight, round, rear end" really is. And come on, what better way is there to end the night?**


	8. Chapter 8

I'm an idiot.

A complete and utter, verifiable idiot. How did I not see it sooner? My mystery woman is none other than Detective Kate Beckett, N.Y.P.D.; inspiration and muse for one Master of the Macabre, Richard Castle.

Nikki Heat, in the flesh.

I am an idiot. Perhaps I should go and get myself checked out for early-onset dementia.

She comes in late in the afternoon, right before I'm about to leave for the day, wearing a white boat-neck shirt, a light jacket, and a tired expression. She picks absently at a loose thread on the bottom of her shirt as she waits in line and smiles weakly when she reaches the counter.

"You're here early," I greet her. "Chai?" I ask, already beginning to work on her usual.

"No, thanks," she smiles, catching my hand as I reach for the tea. "Too early for that. After the day, scratch that, the _week_ I've had, I need a pick me up."

A glint of metal catches my attention as she reaches into her bag for her purse. A shield on her belt loop. A distinct bulge on her right hip.

Whoa! This is new. I've never noticed her packing before.

And now there's no need to ask for a name anymore. How did I miss this? I know exactly who she is; the gorgeous hazel eyes, the body to die for, the hidden sadness, and the soft smile. There's only one person this could be.

"I'll have a grande' latte, low-fat, two pumps..."

And that confirms it.

"Sugar-free vanilla," I cut her off.

She looks at me with wide and disbelieving eyes.

"How did you..."

"Oh, my God! You're Detective Beckett, Nikki Heat!" I squeal in a voice that I barely recognize as my own.

Is this what Rick's fangirls feel like? I feel a blush settling across my chest, warming its way up my neck and onto my cheeks.

_Calm yourself, Jess._

Shock and confusion play out across her features. She offers me a small nod of acknowledgment and a quirk of an eyebrow. She seems somewhat amused by my sudden outburst; and maybe, a little bit afraid. I'm grateful she hasn't run screaming from the store.

As I begin to settle, all the pieces begin to fall into place and realization dawns.

The cagey smile when talking of Rick's books; how we'd discussed the sex scenes between Rook and Nikki and how she'd involuntary flinched. The odd hours she keeps, yet the 'nine to five' wardrobe; the haunted look that she sometimes doesn't manage to conceal.

"How did you..?" she asks me again as I fumble around with the espresso machine.

"Rick's one of my oldest and dearest friends," I reply with a sheepish smile. She ducks her head and blushes; I'm pleased that I'm not the only one finding this whole situation uncomfortable.

"Jeez, I'm sorry. This is awkward. It's just, I feel like I already know you. Rick spends so much time raving about you. You know how he is... 'Detective Beckett this, Detective Beckett that.' Once he gets fixated on something..."

Both her eyebrow shoot up at that.

"Anyway, it's um..."

I realize I'm rambling, take a breath and start over.

"Look, ignore my girlish display. It's nice to finally put a face to the name, Detective Beckett."

She smiles and holds out her hand.

"Kate, you can call me Kate."

"Jess. Nice to finally _meet_ you." My heartbeat returning to a more normal rate, I squeeze her outstretched hand and smile widely at her.

"You needed a break from him?" I inquire with a grin while I tamp down the coffee. "I know he was coming to work with you today; saw him this morning when he picked up your coffees. It seems early for you to be done with work?"

Really, I'm wondering if he's made his confession yet; trying not to pry and yet needing to know. It's now late in the afternoon and he's had an entire day to make things right. He better have.

I really like this woman. At least, what I've gotten to know about her in the last few months. The knowledge that she is the very same woman that Rick has been waxing poetical about only seals my affection for her. He's picky about who he chooses to keep company with, and he has most certainly chosen her.

I'm hoping that we can continue to be late night acquaintances, hoping her knowledge of my friendship with Rick won't scare her away to another, more anonymous, late night escape. I'd been hoping we could become friends recently. With our love of classic literature, our confessions of a shared but secret affair with trashy dime-store novels, and our obsessions with even _more_ trashy television, it's like we were made for each other.

I'll kill him if he's screwed it up.

"Yeah, he was at work today. We closed the case," she replies.

"That's good," I say, hoping she'll reveal more.

There is a small smile of victory on her lips but it is laced with a good dose of sadness.

"Such a shame, such a waste..." She shakes her head as if to clear the morbid thoughts and goes on. "Not that Castle was much help on this one."

She rolls her eyes at that and it's immediately clear where the new quirk of Rick's has come from. On more than one occasion lately he has given me the exact same expression.

"Tell me it wasn't Kyra," I ask.

As much as a terrible, no-good, _horrible_ idea it is for Rick to resume anything with Kyra, I really did like her. She was incredibly sweet and sincere when I knew her; the last _real_ woman Rick had been with. Her being a killer seems completely out of the question, but if Rick's books have taught me anything it is to expect the unexpected.

"Oh, no it wasn't. Don't worry," she smiles reassuringly. "She was a suspect at one point but... I actually liked her." She rolls her eyes again, more exaggerated this time. "_Castle _certainly liked her."

Her brow furrows at the mention of Kyra. As though it surprises her that she has found herself liking Rick's old flame. It's understandable. If all she's seen of his personal life has been what's played out on Page Six, it's a near miracle that she let him waltz into her workplace and eventually her life in the first place. I wonder how he weaseled his way out of the police horse debacle. And was that a hint of jealousy I detected when she said _his_ name?

"It was a long time ago," I soothe, handing over her coffee. She takes it gratefully and slips a dollar into the tip jar. I raise an eyebrow at her, letting her know that it's entirely unnecessary. She shrugs and sips on her brew.

"You do realize that I pay _way _more than necessary for my employees and that all we use the tip jar for is a monthly get together outside of work? Seriously, Kate. I've told you before, quit with the tipping. I consider you a friend."

I get a huff of annoyance for my effort.

"As for Rick," I continue, "it was a shock for him, definitely, but never fear, he is well and truly over her. No matter what his actions may have suggested this week."

I throw it out there, gently hinting towards the clandestine meeting and kiss that Rick had shared with Kyra. I'm eagerly awaiting her response, and hoping fervently that Rick has made his confession; that the affection I see shining in her eyes when she speaks of him isn't going to be erased by the next time we meet.

"Oh," she huffs quickly, "No, there's _no_ fear," grasping immediately at what I was implying and confirming that he had indeed confessed. It also confirms that she does, almost certainly, harbor feelings for the ruggedly-handsome writer. There is a fresh, light pink, hue of warmth coloring her cheeks and no amount of trying to hide behind her hair can conceal it.

_Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, Kate._

"Come, sit. You don't have anywhere to be do you?" I smile and gesture to an empty table.

She walks over with me, takes a swig of her coffee and sits down on a couch, looking to me with an expression of confusion on her face.

"Actually, I do..."

It comes out almost as a question and I sense she feels a need to talk about it.

"Yeah?" I smile, sitting beside her on the sofa and waiting for her to continue. But she stays stubbornly silent. "Hot date?" I poke.

Her eyes snap to mine and she shakes her head almost comically, holding up her hands in denial.

"No... no! Castle and I are supposed to be going to Kyra's wedding ceremony tonight. That's odd, right?_"_

It is, a little. I wait to reply though; she's not done.

"I mean, just this morning Kyra herself was a suspect; and then this afternoon, her fiancé. And now suddenly Castle and I are guests at their impromptu and severely rushed, backup-wedding plans."

She twirls a short, errant strand of hair around an index finger, chews on her lip and proceeds, almost as if talking to herself. Or maybe the ceiling. She's in her own world right now as she tries to figure it out.

"Why would she want us there? The ex-boyfriend and the detective who arrested her fiancé's uncle? It's odd. _Right? _I don't want to intrude but Castle assures me that we'd be wanted there. He almost _begged_ me to go with him. Why would he even want me there?"

Finally she looks back toward me, and aims a pointed glare in my direction, as though I suddenly hold all the mysteries of Richard Castle and his universe within my grasp. As though I can give her answers.

I laugh out loud and pull her into a quick embrace. I'm honestly a little miffed at the idea of it as well. Kyra is a lovely and generous woman, but it _is_ a little odd.

As for Rick, I have no doubt that he will be counting this outing as an unofficial date with the beautiful woman sitting expectantly before me.

I think it's best not to let her in on that little nugget of information just yet.

"Welcome to the wonderful world of Richard Castle, Kate. Never expect normal with him. And he's right, if Kyra is anything like I remember, she _would_ want you there. That girl has a heart of gold; it's why he fell for her, it's why he let her go too. It's why he probably acted like an ass all week."

Kate chuckles and I go on.

"She's also probably trying to set you guys up. She always did fancy herself a bit of a matchmaker."

Kate eyes widen and I shrug.

"Just a heads up."

I wink at her and smirk, pleased with myself, as realization dawns across her face.

"Ha! It's never gonna happen. Me and _Castle_? Not a chance."

"Mhm..."

"I mean it."

"I know you do," I pacify.

She smiles, all haughty and smug, as though she thinks she's got one up on me. Kyra however is not the only one with matchmaking tendencies and it would take a blind, deaf, and possibly dumb person not to notice the affection that bubbles to the surface when the two of them speak of each other.

"For now," I add, poking my tongue out at her.

She gives me a look that might strike a weaker person dead and quietly sips on her coffee, ignoring me.

"Is this weird?" she asks suddenly.

I snap out of my daydreams, glancing toward the clock and sighing when I realize that I still have an hour until relief arrives.

"Is what weird?"

"Us... talking I mean? I don't want to overstep. I feel like I'm grilling a suspect and talking to an old girlfriend all at the same time. I don't want to get between yourself and Castle. I don't know if I should be... I can find another coffee shop if this is weird."

"Hold it right there, Missy!" I exclaim.

No way am I letting her get away; she's right. It _is_ like talking to an old friend with her.

And if I'm honest with myself, I've done my own fair share of grilling and will be sure to do so in the future if she sticks around. We're even on that count.

I'll be damned if the sometimes infuriating, but generally lovable man, who happens to be connected to us both, gets in the way of this new friendship I've struck up.

"Listen, Kate," I say, with a gentle hand to her knee. "I can keep a secret and I can set boundaries. Rick's a good friend, yes, but I also am in the unique position of knowing how maddening that man can be. I can probably provide you with a little perspective, and maybe even keep you from committing a crime that you'd probably end up investigating when he gets a little _too_ obnoxious."

She smirks at that and I can feel her defenses weakening, her trust growing. I plow ahead before she has a change of heart.

"But more importantly, I like _you_. Before I figured out who you were. Which, may I add, took me long enough. I have enjoyed our late night chats and have hoped that we would become friends. Don't let my unexpected friendship with Rick sour you to ours, huh?"

She nods, seeming to accept my declaration; she smiles widely in my direction and acquiesces quietly.

"Okay."

"Okay then."

I sip on my own drink, wincing when I find it cold and place it on the coffee table. I begin to people-watch and Kate does the same; the quiet settles over us again. It's not exactly uncomfortable but it is a little awkward. I know exactly what we need to lighten the mood.

"Please don't leave me for the _Store That Shall Not Be Named_!" I cry, dropping to one knee and giving her my best impression of a woman scorned.

"Ha!" She snorts and pulls me up into a hug.

"Never fear," she whispers in to my ear before depositing me back onto the couch. "Their Chai sucks." she winks.

"Oh, I see how it is," I moan, "Only after me for my T and A."

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes glitter a pretty shade of green and gold.

"Tits and ass?" she laughs, a merry sound, almost choking on her coffee. "You know, I'm just not that kind of girl. Sorry, Jess."

"Tea and accompaniments," I reply glibly. "But I appreciate the way your mind works."

She chuckles and we enjoy a few more minutes looking out the window. We laugh as a little old lady with an enormous Great Dane stops in front of the store, laugh harder as the massive beast drops a 'number two' on the pavement and the lady pulls out a large grocery bag to take care of it.

"Better her than me," I snort and Kate nods in reply.

"I guess I should go home and get ready," she says finally, looking at her watch. "Wouldn't want to keep Castle waiting."

"It's more likely that you'll be kept waiting while _he_ does _his_ hair," I grin.

"You're probably right," she agrees, rising. She grabs her purse and coffee, and squeezes my shoulder. "It was nice meeting you properly, Jess."

"You too," I reply, hoping she can hear the sincerity in my voice. "Give him hell."

"I always do," she says as she breezes out the door.

I'll bet she does.

I wonder as I drag myself back behind the counter if she'll let on to Rick that we have met.

* * *

**Well jeez, _finally,_ Jess! **

**Have I mentioned that writing 1st person is HARD? Because it is and I hate it. **

**Thanks to Kell for the quick, last-minute beta when I had a moment of "OMFG I JUST ADDED 1200 WORDS AND WTF AM I THINKING ABOUT TO HIT THE POST BUTTON AT THREE IN THE MORNING WITHOUT ANYONE SEEING IT?"**


	9. Chapter 9

Something is terribly wrong.

Her face is ashen, her eyes rimmed with red; she chews absently on her thumb nail and her cheeks are blotchy and pale. As Kate waits in line and shuffles towards me, it seems almost as though she has shrunk into herself. Gone is the confident and purposeful posture, the easy smile; she holds a stance of utter defeat.

I begin making her chai before she even approaches the counter. I have a feeling it's a tea and comfort type of day.

I hurry myself, letting the tea and spices steep perhaps a little shorter than is usually acceptable and quickly steam the milk. Snagging a chocolate chip cookie from the display and making my way around the counter, I approach quietly with what I hope is a reassuring smile, and move to place the cup in her hands.

She works at her jaw furiously, clenching and releasing in what looks like a teeth jarring manner. A vein on the side of her forehead bulges and pulses; it looks painful and I grab the bottle of Motrin that I keep behind the counter for the occasional migraine I have.

Her eyes flit to mine and dart away again. She looks like a wild animal caught in a trap, not knowing whether to run or roll over and play dead.

"Kate...?" I hush, and her whole body shudders, as though for the first time she's realizing where she is. Her eyes shift to the exit and she swallows, throat bobbing with the force it takes to swallow down her emotion. I watch as she tries to pull herself together, straightening her shoulders and willing herself not to cry.

It seems like she's made her decision then. Run.

She nods, a small gesture of thanks for the tea, and turns to leave, but she only makes it three steps before stalling. Her feet frozen in place, she turns her head towards mine; a look of sheer panic is strewn across her features. She bites down on her lower lip, her eyes wild and searching. Following her gaze, I then see what has her so panicked.

Waiting for a break in traffic stands Rick, whether following her here after a fight, or simply looking for a caffeine fix, I am not sure. I am however sure, that Richard Castle is the very last person Kate wants to see right now.

Her eyes plead with me; a desperate appeal to save her from an encounter that she's not ready to engage in.

It's all I need to spur me into a decision. She's not the touchy-feely, sharing, type but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she's about to break down, and I'm fairly certain she'd prefer it to be anywhere else than among the crowded coffee shop and its patrons. I'm doubly certain that she doesn't want it to be in front of a certain writer, now hastily crossing the street.

Quickly, I lead her towards my office, a small but private alcove behind the counter. It's not much, just a small desk and an office chair. Supplies are stacked to the ceiling and about ten year's worth of clutter sits atop the small desk. Still, it's quiet and it's private. It'll do.

"You wanna talk about it?" I ask.

She briefly raises her eyes towards mine, and for a fraction of a second, I see deep layers of pain, hurt, confusion. She shakes her head and slumps into the chair.

I wait at the threshold, eventually leaning in to place the pain-killers on the desk.

"No," she finally murmurs, acknowledging the gesture and grasping for the bottle.

"You wanna hang out here and hide from the world for a while?"

He lips start to quiver and her eyes shine with as yet unshed tears. I want to reach out and embrace her, say something to ease her pain. I'm not sure we are at that point yet though, we've only been on a first name basis for a week or so. She blinks rapidly. I smile and squeeze her shoulder.

"Thank you," she breaths out on a sob, and the tears finally spill free upon her cheeks.

I feel my own throat tighten and blink away the beginnings of emotion as it pricks at my eyes.

"Anytime," I reply, handing over a box of tissues from a nearby shelf.

She takes the box gratefully and dabs at her eyes, fresh rivers replacing the old quicker than she can swipe them away.

"What did he..?" I start.

She shakes her head in the negative and I let out a relieved breath that my friend isn't the direct cause at least of this display of sadness.

The store is humming. I can hear the bell above the door ring every few seconds, the clang of metal spoons against milk steamers, a loud guffaw and the shrill wail of a baby crying. I realize that I need to get back out there.

Kate could probably use a little seclusion right now anyway. And it's not like I'm much help, staring in commiseration at her from the doorway. The last thing I want when I'm crying is an audience.

I shoot her a final consolatory smile before gesturing towards the storefront.

"I'll get rid of him," I say. "If you need anything, just holler, okay?"

Her head inclines in a barely perceptible nod and I take it as my cue to leave her in peace. I place the cookie on the desk beside her with a wink.

"Can't hurt," I say as I leave the room.

The store is busy when I re-emerge. There's the late-afternoon throng of businessmen and women getting off of work, grabbing a cup for the commute back to suburbia, and harried mothers and fathers, in between after-school activities, coming in for a quick caffeine fix before continuing on with their chauffeuring duties and homework battles.

Rick waves when he sees me, a small smile and a questioning gaze directed my way. I wonder if he knows Kate is here. Or if he's just appeared in search of a quick fix like everyone else waiting patiently in line. Hurrying over toward him, I direct him to a table and gesture for him to sit, urging him away from the counter. From the woman, who just a scant few feet away, is hiding behind a thin plywood wall, crying her eyes out.

"Sit, I'll get you your coffee."

He raises a skeptical eyebrow but complies without any fuss.

It takes only moments for me to whip him up his cappuccino; a fresh jug of milk has already been steamed by my busy baristas. The afternoon rush has them working in a smooth and efficient tempo. I smile my apologies as I break their rhythm for a moment, poaching a shot of espresso from another customer's drink and quickly getting out of their way.

Returning to the table, I place the coffee on the smooth, granite surface and nudge it towards him.

"So what brings you here this afternoon?" I ask, wondering if he will mention the detective and her current state of mind.

"Hard day," he mumbles. "I needed to get away for a while."

_Huh...so it's not just her then..._

"Rick," I start.

How am I supposed to tell him to leave? I don't even know if they have discussed the fact that I know Kate. Let alone that we've become fairly close in the short time we've been talking; bonding over books and coffee, our shared love of making fun of all things _Castle_. Over television and our inability to distinguish fact from fiction when it comes to our favorite couples. The fact that we are both attractive, intelligent women, and yet the fact that our longest lasting relationship is with a soap opera that probably should have been canceled fifteen years ago.

As good a friend as Rick is, I promised Kate I'd get rid of him, and I intend to keep that promise.

He eyes me up and down, the quirk of his eyebrows letting me know that he's onto my somewhat strange behavior.

Usually, if the cafe is as busy as it is now, he waits in his customary chair until the rush dies down and then makes his way over to the counter to brew his own; a good-natured gesture to afford me a well-deserved break. His eyes squint, boring into me, as he tries to figure out my game.

"What's going on, Jess?"

I consider lying and making up a story about it being busy and not having time to talk. Quickly though, I dismiss it, knowing he'll just wait around until I have no more excuses.

Relying on his strong sense of nobility, his ability to be a grown up when it counts, I decide to tell him the truth.

"Kate's in the back. She's shaken up, Rick."

He makes as if he's about to rise and go to her. I grab a hold of his arm and halt his movements. He stills for a moment, starts to speak and then abruptly stops.

"Wait, how did you..? You know Kate? Detective Beckett, Kate?"

Well, that's one question answered. Apparently Kate has been playing coy in regards to our shared somebody. That somebody is now looking to me expectantly, waiting for answers.

"Um, yeah." I grin. "We've been talking for a while now but it was only last week that I realized who she was. Can't tell you how stupid I felt when it finally fell into place."

He smirks at my admission.

"The great Jess Collins let one get by her? Tsk, tsk. You must be losing your touch."

"I'll tell you this much, Rick. She's a keeper. I can see now why you've been following her around for all these months."

"About that, I really should go and see if she's okay. She got some bad news today and rushed out of the precinct in a bit of a state."

"Rick, don't. You should let her be."

"Jess, she... she means too much. I can help her."

"Look, I don't know what this is about Rick, but I do know this. She saw you from across the street and looked like she either wanted to sink into a hole in the floor or maybe just disappear entirely. Whatever it is, she's not ready to talk about it. Leave her be. She'll come to you when she's ready."

"I'm not so sure about that, Jess," he says. "This is all my fault. Her mother..."

"She doesn't blame you."

"How would you know that? How _could_ you know that?"

"I just do. Trust me, Rick. Go home, hug your daughter. And let me take care of her, 'kay?"

"Jess..."

I manhandle him up and off the chair, walk him towards the door before he has any time to argue.

"Go. I got this."

He gives me a skeptical glare, his gaze shifting to my office for a lingering moment. He sighs, acquiescing and shuffling toward the exit.

"She'll come around," I say with a squeeze to his bicep. He nods and grudgingly leaves the store with a last longing glance toward the back.

"Take care of her," he hisses as I shut the door in his face.

I do my best to go about my business and greet each customer with a smile. I make lattes and small talk; make frappuccinos and feign interest in current weather predictions. My attention however is inconsistent and frequently I find my thoughts brought back to the entrance of my office.

It's been almost twenty minutes since Rick left and I'm contemplating leaving the registers to the baristas, going back to check on her. The swell of customers has eased and I wonder if perhaps she is willing to talk about whatever is causing her such pain. On the other hand, it's not really my place. Not yet anyway.

My decision is made for me, when she emerges a few seconds later, all traces of her previous heartache erased. Her makeup is freshly applied and her shoulders are straight and tall. There are some cracks in the facade though; the crinkling of her brow and the tightness in her jawline, the white knuckles gripping the cardboard of her cup, the red rims of her eyes. But the persona of no-nonsense detective with New York's finest, is squarely back in place. There will be no deep and meaningful conversation today.

She walks with purpose towards me and a wry small smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

"Thanks, Jess." she whispers, squeezing my hand for a brief moment. "I just couldn't with him... not right now."

"Anytime, hon. You _know _that."

I wait, biting my tongue; expectantly hoping for the story, but knowing in my heart that it won't be forthcoming.

"Later, Jess." she says in a soft voice.

I could take it as a farewell. After all, she _is _currently striding towards the exit and onto the street. But something about her tone implies that she'll be back.

To explain, to share… For an ear willing to listen.

Perhaps, the woman isn't as closed off as she would like the outside world to see. Maybe she's just looking for a friend, for tea and comfort.

She's takes work, Kate Beckett. But she's worth it.

* * *

**Sorry, sorry, sorry. The plan was to write while I was on vacation and post you all lots and lots of Jess and coffee goodness. Then my little one broke her arm on the first day and the plan became, 'Try to keep the poor girl from crying while every other kid on the cruise ship has fun swimming and playing while she cannot'. Good news is that we are home now, bad news is that my mother in law arrives for her vacation in two days. I have no idea how frequent the updates might be the next few weeks. I'll try though, 'kay?**

**Thanks to Kellie for the beta. She's awesome. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Looky! Another update!**

* * *

I have been struck with an increasing urge to write, a compulsion to put pen to paper, fingers to keys; to bring my internal monologue to life.

While the impulse strikes at any hour of the day, I find it easier during the wee hours of the morning. While sane folks are snuggled warmly in their beds, I'm idly watching over the store, chugging obscene amounts of coffee and typing with a fury I didn't know I was capable of.

I'll spend a few moments staring dejectedly at a blank screen, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I've lost my inspiration, that I will never again write anything more than a grocery list, and then a tune on the radio will inspire me, or a glimpse of lovers, passing hand-in-hand by the storefront. The way the sunlight slices between the two buildings opposite mine, creating a glimmering shaft of brilliance in an otherwise bland sea of gray and black, concrete and glass. Before I know it, the words are flying onto the screen; thoughts and feelings cohesively arranging themselves as if by a force outside of my control. The edges of my vision blur, the handful of conversations I am subtly eavesdropping on become a distant hum, and I find myself consumed, surrounded by my characters and the world they inhabit.

Kate has inspired me, I'm sure of it.

But I'm not writing the next Nikki Heat. I'll leave that to Rick; and to the legions of die-hard fans putting their own visions of Rook and Nikki out on the internet for all to enjoy. Bless them. I'm not ashamed to admit that I enjoy reading it almost as much as I do the original. Those writers sure know how to ramp up the sexual tension. Even better, they know how to resolve it. In style. And in great detail.

No, I am writing a historical drama; a tale of two lonely souls meeting by chance amid the shadow of a brutal and protracted war. A strong and caring officer, haunted by demons from the past, a love lost, and his courageous and virtuous nurse, trapped in a bitter and loveless marriage. As her marriage ends and her life once again becomes her own, against her better judgment, she sends the officer away, claiming honor and a twisted sense of being unworthy. Fate will - naturally - bring them back together and force them to confront the monsters under the bed, the electricity that crackles and sparks around them. There will be much drama. And perhaps a small dose of erotica.

My original story idea, of families and the ties that bind, lost out to a good old fashioned love story.

Those books I most certainly _don't_ read may have provided their fair share of inspiring as well.

I'm firmly back on the night shift, only covering on mornings when an employee calls in sick or it's a holiday weekend and the store is sure to be swamped and in need of an extra hand. And so, it is Kate who I have been spending most of my nights with. It is Kate who has kept me apprised of their latest cases and, unbeknownst to her, the glacial pace of her and Rick's relationship.

I've decided that I may grow old and die waiting for either of them to make a move.

Neither of them seems too eager to dip their toes in the water. Kate is skittish at best. And for all of Rick's gushing and fantasizing about the woman, he is just as gun shy about starting anything as she is.

For a few weeks after the 'incident' as I now call it, Kate had retreated into herself. Our blossoming friendship stalled out and I was greeted with shy smiles and thank-yous laden with deeper meaning; an acknowledgment, and yet no further discussion. I had begun to lose hope that I would ever find out what kept her up late at night, what spurred such deep pain, and kept her from reaching out and confiding in someone.

A gesture of solidarity one night, a cookie and companionable silence while we read side-by-side is what finally brought about the rekindling of our late night chats.

"Thanks Jess," she had said quietly.

"Hmm?" I had replied, not really paying attention, heavily invested in the drama playing out between the pages of the novel I was reading.

"I just wanted to say thanks, again, for last month," she said, causing me to drop the book into my lap. "For not asking this month. And for the cookies," she had smiled, waving a white chocolate-chip in salute.

I had tipped my mug to her in return with a nod of acknowledgment, and ever so slowly we had once again resumed our late-night chats.

She'd told me of her mother's murder, of Rick digging into the case and his offer to help. How it had all gone wrong and she'd been forced to shoot the man who had killed her mother, the man who might have had answers. Suddenly, Heat Wave became a whole lot more meaningful; Rick's reticence when it came to starting something with her making more sense.

After thanking me again for the place to hide, she'd told me about meeting Joe Torre and I saw a whole other side to her; girlish, young and excitable.

She told me about torturing Rick at a sex shop and later at a dungeon called 'House of Pain' and it was then that I realized we were kindred spirits, united in our passion to get a rise out of Rick and burst a few bubbles of that sometimes overly inflated ego.

* * *

Tonight, she strides in looking flustered. It's been a little over a week since I'd last seen her, when we had giggled over which celebrity would look better in assless chaps. We'd decided it was Gerard Butler, with Ryan Reynolds coming in a close second.

Rick doesn't count; we can ogle his ass anytime we like. He'd probably oblige the chaps if we were so inclined as well.

"What can I get ya?" I ask as she strides up to the counter.

"My apartment blew up," she says with a look that intones she doesn't quite believe it. She looks a little shell-shocked.

"Coffee it is," I say, getting the espresso started, not quite believing what I just heard. "You want a kick with that? You look like you could use it."

"Hmm… actually… yes, please. As long as you're joining me?"

Don't have to ask me twice. And the shop is near empty at this ungodly hour of the night anyway. I grin and grab two mugs, scanning the liqueur shelf for something suitable. Settling on Grand Marnier, I breathe in the fragrance of oranges and toffee, my mouth watering as its scent meets the espresso, as the rich aromas mingle and combine into a delicious and silky combination.

"Make yourself useful," I grin, nodding my head in the direction of the pastry cabinet. "Anything you like and a brownie for me, please."

She grabs two brownies and some napkins; I bring the coffee and we settle into our usual spot.

"So... it blew up?" I raise a skeptical brow. "You mean, like... _boom?_ How?"

"Swear to God, Jess," she says, raising her palms. "Crazed serial killer with a Nikki Heat fixation. Wait, don't you watch the news? And hasn't Castle told you any of this?"

"I haven't seen him in weeks. _Someone_ is keeping him busy all hours of the day and night." I fix her with a pointed stare and she blushes, her eyes sparkling but mouth staying firmly shut. "And unlike you and me," I continue, "apparently he needs his sleep to stay so pretty."

She snorts and chuffs out a small laugh. "Yeah, he was sleeping when I left," she murmurs.

_I'm sorry?_ _What? _

"Whoa, Kate! Back up now." I demand, slightly stunned by this apparently unintentional slip, at least if the look of mortification of her face is anything to go by. "When you _left_? _His place?_"

My mind immediately supplies all kinds of sordid details. I wonder when they finally admitted their feelings, when they first kissed; whether they'd christened the grand piano. Or the shower with its multiple heads and massaging streams. He'd spent an inordinate amount of time telling me about when he'd had the system installed.

Well then… What the hell is she doing _here_ when Rick is waiting in bed? He's probably wondering where she is. Surely they couldn't have screwed things up this quickly.

She blushes a deep crimson and sputters for a second before recovering and harshly insisting, "Oh God! No! It's _nothing_ like that."

I cock my head and sneer. Sure it's not.

"Shut your mouth and quit giving me that look, Jess" she insists. "He just offered me a place to stay, since, you know... Kaboom?"

Damn. She's telling the truth.

"Mhmm," I smirk. Although her voice, her demeanor, and her pleading eyes are revealing to me that she's speaking fact, I'm not above giving her a little bit of shit over it anyway.

God knows those two could use a little push, or a hefty thrust.

_Quit it before you get any dirtier, Jess. Focus!_

"Okay, so your place blew up, there's a serial killer on the loose, and you're staying with Rick. Quite the week you're having."

"Well, we caught the killer at least," she smiles.

"Yeah? Safe take down I hope?"

"Actually," she fiddles with her watch a second, then smiles wide and happy, looking almost proud. "Castle took him down. Shot a gun right out of the wackjob's hands."

"No kidding, that's pretty cool! Of course, Rick will never let you hear the end of it," I say, grinning, also a little proud of him. "You know that right?"

"Oh, he knows better than that. I won't make him anymore bacon if he doesn't."

She's staying with him and cooking, huh?_ "Nothing like that," _my ass.

"You cooked him breakfast?" I grin.

"Shut up."

"How very domestic of you, Kate. Sharing loads of laundry too?"

"Jess…"

"Shutting up," I laugh, knowing that I've pushed far enough for the time being.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping on our spiked coffees and enjoying the quiet. She reads the paper and I people watch and doodle in my journal.

"So why are you hiding out here," I finally inquire, not able to help myself from one last dig, "and not luxuriating in that gorgeous apartment of his?"

"He found my dad's watch in the wreckage of my place and… he got it fixed."

She's giving me a headache. The man in question is a saint. "And this is a problem why?"

"It was sweet."

She fiddles with the watchband, biting on her lip and reminding me of a teenager struggling with her first crush. It's a complete juxtaposition to the image of a strong, confident woman that she usually projects.

"Again, Kate… A problem. Why?"

"It's complicated, Jess."

"Doesn't sound too complicated."

"Everyone says that. And I get it, I _do_. He's a good man, and there's definitely something between us, but it's almost… it's too much. I don't know if I can handle him, his life. You know?"

Her eyes shine with moisture and she takes a deep breath. I watch as she carefully steels her emotions, tightening her jaw and wringing her hands. I feel a sting of sorrow for her; for the circumstances that made such a remarkable woman so fearful of anything real or meaningful when it comes to her personal life. She spends all day comforting families, dealing with everything so painfully real, truly awful, and yet never allows herself to feel the happier flip-side of real.

But by closing herself off from the pain, she's missing out on all the joy as well.

The mood is somber. It's heavy and laced with unvoiced emotion.

Perhaps she's right though; it is complicated.

Rick, and all the baggage that comes with him, would be a handful for any woman. Money, celebrity… His highly fabricated, yet no less imposing, reputation. And she'd have to deal with it all in the public eye. I know she already struggles with Nikki Heat, with being on the periphery of fame herself. There are probably a few months more worth of him proving himself to her before she will even entertain the idea of starting a relationship with him.

I have faith in them though.

I've yet to see them in the same room together yet I know almost every minute detail of their daily lives. I don't think they realize just how _much_ they talk about each other, how much their lives already orbit around their other half. How when I ask them as they order a coffee how their day was, instead of getting an answer about themselves, I get a rundown on the other.

"Kate said this today." "Rick did that."

I realize I've been pondering too long, and that she's looking to me for an answer; maybe she's even asking me if she should give it a shot.

And as much as I'd like them to dive in, to have their happily ever after, something tells me that now isn't it. Not yet. The tail-end of a life and death situation probably isn't the best time to start a relationship. It leaves to many opportunities, in harder times to come, to question motives and causation. Something tells me that they both have to do a little more maturation before this relationship is ripe for the taking.

I don't want to tell her not to pursue something. God knows, she'll take that and run with it for years. So being the pain in the ass that I am, I instead go in for another dig. I aim for a laugh and hope to deflect her away from relationship discussions.

"So... bacon, huh? And what else did you cook for him? Was it pancakes? Ooh! Waffles?" I smirk over at her with an eyebrow waggle and a leer.

"Shut up and find me an apartment," she growls, throwing the newspaper in my direction.

Worked like a charm.

* * *

**Yada, yada, yada... review, review! Feed my ego!**

**Big thanks to Trish for the last minute beta. Muah!**


	11. Chapter 11

I run into him at the grocery store, and I quickly lower the takeout coffee from my lips, hoping that he doesn't see the blush that I'm sure is gracing my cheeks. It wouldn't do to be caught with the trendy cup of Dean and DeLuca in my hands. But they carry my favorite kind of bread, and the trip down to SoHo is worth it for the fresh-baked goodness alone. Add a creamy blue cheese and a decent bottle of wine and my night will be made.

"Ricky," I greet, feeling the heat in my cheeks as I lean in to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Uh, Jess… Hi," he hedges, and I don't fail to notice that while I am hiding my coffee, he is also trying to hide something; a shopping basket, behind his legs.

"What you got there?" I ask, peering behind him and into the contents of his basket, noting fresh chicken breasts, pasta, Asiago cheese, prosciutto; the makings of a fine meal.

"Oh, nothing, just dinner," he says, his eyes shifting from me to the display of wines to his right, the bakery counter and dessert selections to his left.

Oh, this is more than just dinner. While the ingredients are pretty average for a meal made by Rick, his embarrassment and barely-hidden eagerness to avoid conversation are a sure sign that this particular dinner might be special.

"Ah," I say, smiling and picking up a bottle of white from the rack, proud that he and Kate seem to have made a step forward. I drop the Riesling into my basket and carry on, quickly following him as he tries to make his escape. "Well, it's about time."

"Yeah, about time," he says, distracted and picking up a pack of chocolate truffles as we walk past the bakery and toward the registers.

I wonder briefly why Kate didn't tell me about this change in their relationship. It must be recent. Last I'd seen of her, she'd been cackling over a few pranks that she and the boys at the 12th had played on Rick. There had been a happy air about her, an easing of some of the tension since the whole ordeal with the serial killer and her mom's case. Still, she had said nothing about any deepening of her feelings towards Rick or about making a decision to dive in. So… why now, and what did I miss?

I dump the half-empty cup of coffee in a nearby trash can, relieved that he seems to have missed my indiscretion entirely, and follow him to the checkout, ready to resume my interrogation. He gestures for me to go before him, but I want to see what else he has hidden in his basket. I shake my head and insist that he goes first.

Laid down flat along the edge of the basket is a single, long-stemmed red rose. He pulls it out and gently places it on the counter. I roll my eyes at the cheesiness of it, thinking that it's not really Kate's style but keeping my mouth shut. He knows her better than I do, maybe she has made mention of it. Or maybe he's just trying a little too hard to be romantic. Either way, it's not a big deal. It's actually kind of sweet. He lays out the ingredients for his meal on the counter, wild mushrooms and heavy cream alongside the other supplies and I almost wish that I could be there to taste the dish. It looks delicious already.

He reaches into his basket for the last remaining item and I about choke on my own spittle. Carefully wrapped in brown paper from the seafood section, the label clearly reads, 'Wellfleet Oysters'.

"Really? _Oysters?_" I say, raising an eyebrow and smirking in his direction.

"What?" he argues, shrugging his shoulders and grinning. "They're an aphrodisiac," he leers, pulling out his wallet and popping out a credit card to pay.

"Don't you think that might be going a little over the top for Kate?" I ask, worried about his mental health if he thinks the detective will fall for the cliché of oysters, and also slightly concerned about his intentions toward the woman I have grown to really like over the past few months. Besides, she seems to me like more of a Chinese and a good bottle of red, accompanied by a movie by the fire kind of girl.

"Oh, you know… Wait, what? _Who?_" He looks completely flustered, as though only now catching up to the conversation.

"Detective Beckett… Kate," I say, gesturing to his basket. "What made her finally agree to dinner with you, anyway?"

"Oh…" His face falls a bit before he schools his features into a smile. "God no, this isn't for Beckett and me. I have a date." He looks around as if for prying eyes and ears before his face blooms into a shit-eating grin. "With Ellie Monroe."

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. He actually fell for all that pandering nonsense that the actress was oozing all over him on the talk show? And what the hell is he thinking, dating other people while he's supposed to be trying to woo Kate?

"Seriously Rick?" I ask, not even bothering to hide my scorn. "The actress from the show last night?"

"What?" he asks, seemingly confused by my lack of congratulations.

"I thought you and Kate were… well _you_ know… going somewhere. I've never seen you as happy as you were while she was staying at your place. Her too, for that matter. What in the hell happened?"

"Nothing _happened_, Jess. She's just… Look, I don't think she's there yet and in the meantime, nothing says I can't have a little fun while I work on getting her to open up."

God, he's being ridiculous. Sometimes I forget that he is a man.

A well-meaning, lovely man; a caring father and a great friend too. But he's also a famous man, with a reputation to uphold. And he's also probably suffering from a little bit of prodding from his agent. It _has _been an exceedingly long dry spell for him in the tabloids. He's rich and charming, handsome and in the prime of his life; it's expected of him.

He probably has a point too. But it's a point that is going to bite him in the ass where Beckett is concerned. Still, it's a point nonetheless.

"Just…" I sigh, put my basket down on the counter besides his now empty one, and clutch his forearm. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt."

Regardless of what Rick dating Ellie is going to cause Kate to feel, the movie star has a reputation of her own. I just hope he's going into this with his eyes open, whether the rumors are true or not.

"I'm not going to get hurt," he assures me, swiping his card confidently and paying for his groceries. "Hell, this might be exactly what we… what_ I_ need…"

Oh jeez, he isn't? _Is he_? But the pleased way that he's loading his groceries into his shopping bags suggests that it's exactly what he is doing.

"Making her jealous is the _last_ thing you want to do, Rick," I warn.

This harebrained idea of his is surely going to backfire. Kate is the type to fight fire with fire, not to admit defeat and confess to her fears. Making her jealous is probably the _last_ way to make her fall into his arms and he's delusional if he thinks otherwise.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Jess," he replies, shrugging off my worries.

His side-eyed glance in my direction suggests otherwise. He knows exactly what he's doing. And he knows that I know.

"Right..." I lament, turning to face him properly and holding both his arms so that he's looking me in the eye. He needs a dose of the hard truth. And who better than me to deliver it? "You are going to ruin everything you've accomplished so far by doing the naked pretzel with Miss Monroe, Rick. _Please_… think with the guy up here…" I let go of him arms and give him a tap on the forehead. "Rather than the guy down there." I give his crotch a long stare before pointedly glaring at him.

"It'll be fine," he assures me, leaning in to kiss my cheek and picking up his bags.

"You're making a mistake," I caution him again as he starts to turn away from me.

He stops for a second, clearly thinking it over, but I can tell the moment he decides to go for it anyway, a determined expression masking the quick flash of fear. "I know what I'm doing," he says, almost as if trying to convince himself.

He's clueless. But he won't be deterred; I know that face. Best I can do is support him when it all falls to pieces, and try to mitigate the damage on Kate's end when she finds out. On the bright side, I can almost taste my 'I told you so' moment.

I shake my head and give him a smile. Hell, maybe he _does_ deserve a little fun. Kate's no easy woman to navigate and he has put in a Herculean effort just to get to this point with her. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe a shove is what she needs; gentle prodding can only work for so long. Right?

Yeah… _right. _This is _so_ going to end badly.

"Be careful," I say, leaning in to give him a quick hug.

"I'll try," he grins back.

I raise an eyebrow before throwing him a wink. "Sure you will, Ricky."

He throws me a confident wave as he turns and heads toward the door. "See ya, Jess!" he calls.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," I murmur after him to the tinkling of the store's bell.

He is an idiot.

* * *

They are _both _idiots.

Ellie had led to Demming.

Kate had arrived in a huff a couple days into Rick's brief affair with Ellie, more determined than I have ever seen her to prove to herself that she didn't need him. I had talked her down with a cup of tea and a lengthy discussion regarding men and their lack of common sense when it came to the opposite sex. I'd advised her not to go out and find the next hot guy for retaliation sex and she had seemed to be in agreement.

The handsome robbery detective had shown up exactly at the right time though. Rick was still licking his wounds, and Kate was open for a change. When she'd told me about their sparring session, I knew exactly where it was leading and had tried to warn Rick. Rendered mute by pride, he'd ignored my advice to talk to Kate and had, inexplicably, given the detective his blessing.

He spent the next few nights in the Hut, drowning his sorrows in caffeine and furiously writing on his laptop. He swore up and down that he wasn't jealous; Schlemming, the smarmy jerk in his book, a barely concealed jab towards Demming, told otherwise.

Though I kept it to myself, I couldn't help but silently cheer Kate on for unintentionally giving Rick a taste of his own medicine.

Naturally, it didn't work any better for her.

Demming led to Madison. And while it was only a single date that led nowhere, it did more damage than both of them realized. Rick had waved away my concerns and assured me that whatever had been brewing between him and Kate was over. Kate had brushed it off, and covered her hurt by gushing over Tom. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see how hard she was trying to force feelings for the robbery detective while stubbornly refusing to admit any for Rick.

Now, I find myself sitting alone in the coffee shop wondering how in the hell they could get it all so monumentally wrong, wondering if there was anything I could have done or said to make them stop for a moment and _not_ act out of hurt pride and wounded feelings.

They are both still painfully pining for the other, while at the same time, pigheadedly refusing to actually _do _anything about it. If ever I get the chance to have them in the same room together, I am going to make it my duty to get them talk to each other.

Or perhaps just smack some sense into them. That would work for me too.

Either way, I have had it up to here with their refusal to see what is right in front of them.

The last straw came just this afternoon, when Rick strode in for a cappuccino and revealed that he had decided to take Gina to the Hamptons for the summer. Gina… The ex-wife and publisher. It's almost like he is _trying_ to ruin everything at this point. Not two days ago, he was hiding out in the Hut with his phone on silent, doing everything to avoid her calls.

I haven't talked to Kate yet, but no doubt she has played no small part in this horrendously bad plan of action on Rick's part.

Gina… Good God. And I thought Ellie was going to end badly. When will Rick ever grow up? And when in the hell will Kate realize what's before her?

The bell rings above my door and I look up, not entirely surprised, to see none other than one half of the very object of my frustrated musings.

"Kate?" I greet tentatively, noting the puffy eyes and tightened jawline.

Her lip wobbles. "Can we… can we talk, Jess?"

* * *

**Kids are back in school, summer is over and a semi-normal schedule is back in place. There's hope that I might update this more frequently from now on. A little bit of hope anyway.**

**Thoughts?**

**Also, yes, this is all completely new material. Nothing past chapter 9 is recycled.**

**Thanks to the usual suspects. Avi for yelling at me to write, Nic for coming back from the newborn dead to yell at me some more, and Kellie for the awesomesauce beta on the fly.**


	12. Chapter 12

"Can we… can we talk, Jess?"

I quickly scan the shop; it's slow and my partner on the evening shift can easily cover for me.

Kate stands tall, her shoulders squared and her jaw set, and if you didn't know any better, you'd swear she was the picture of poise. But though the trembling of her lip has stopped and the red is fast fading from her eyes, she's still white-knuckling whatever it is that is bothering her. Her thumbs are hooked into the pockets of her pants, her nails digging into the dark-washed denim of her jeans, making the contrast between the two even more obvious.

"Heads up, Jake," I call, quickly making my way over to Kate and throwing her a smile. "You've got the helm; back in a while."

"Aye, aye," he calls back and I give him a little mock-salute before turning to Kate.

Reaching her, I take a hold of an arm and quickly turn her around, grabbing my coat from the rack and leading her back out the way she just came. "Come on, girl, let's blow this joint, huh?"

"Jess, this really isn't necessary… you don't need to, you know…"

She waves back toward the store and I roll my eyes. "Nonsense," I shush, leading her down the street and toward a small community park just a block away. "Come on, I know a place."

She nods, accepting my lead and quietly follows at my side. The wind blows strongly between buildings as we make our way down the sidewalk and she wraps her trench tightly around her waist, hunching her shoulders to protect her neck and keep off the chill. For May, it's unseasonably cold, and I'm glad I grabbed my coat; I give her a quick once-over, covering my inspection with a pretense of struggling to put on my outerwear.

She laughs, completely unexpectedly and rolls her eyes. "I'm fine, Jess."

Huh. Apparently I wasn't as covert in my examination as I had thought.

"Sure you are. So, what's up?" I grin, turning into the park and pulling out my wallet. She bites on her lip, takes a breath like she's going to say something and then closes her mouth again.

I've got time. I can wait.

I lead us toward the hotdog vendor that is a fixture in the park and ask her if she wants one. She declines, but orders a bottle of water. I order a dog with everything on it; onions, cheese, chili, and a coke to wash it all down.

I study her as we wait for my dog to be prepared. She absently bites on a thumb nail and stares off into the distance, toward the playground and the soccer field beyond. She lifts her chin and lets the cool, late spring breeze whip through her hair; she takes a deep breath and angles her face towards the remnants of dappled sunset as it streams through the trees. As I pay, she opens her eyes, a less conflicted aura surrounding her when she finally faces me. I hand her the water bottle and cock my head towards an empty seat that lines the walking track.

"Hungry?" she smirks as we sit on the bench.

"Starved," I mumble through a mouthful, moaning as melted cheese hits the back of my mouth. "I haven't had a break all day; haven't eaten either. And you can't tell a soul… but if I had to drink one more cup of coffee I might have thrown up. Sometimes owning a coffee shop is a curse."

"Blasphemy!" she gasps, her eyes for the first time looking truly happy, if only for a moment. The cloud quickly settles back onto her countenance and we sit side-by-side, people watching in silence for a while.

I finish my hotdog and ball up the wrapper. Aiming for the garbage, I shoot, but don't score; I miss by a good three feet and she laughs as I cross the bike path to retrieve my trash.

"Shut up," I say as I sit back down beside her. I bump shoulders with her and nudge the side of her head with my own. For someone who wants to talk, she is frustratingly silent. "So, are we gonna sit here all evening making fun of people, or are we gonna talk about why we're really here? What happened?"

I'm pretty sure, I already know, but hey, maybe the robbery detective has pissed her off and it's not at all about her and Rick; or his impromptu visit to the Hamptons with his ex.

She sighs, slumping back into the bench. "We broke up…" She chews on her lip, considering for a moment. "And Castle left."

"Ah." I say, hoping my short reply will spur her into talking.

"Mhm…"

My ploy fails miserably. The seconds tick by and she says no more. It seems like she's not gonna be forthcoming at all, and that I'm going to have to drag it out of her, inch by inch.

"Will we start with Demming then? Who broke up with whom?"

"Me, with him."

Lord… it's like pulling teeth with this one. But two can play at this game. "Why?"

She gives me a look, raises an eyebrow. Yeah, I know why, but she's gonna tell me anyway. I raise both of mine back at her and wait.

"He wasn't what I was looking for right now, okay?" she finally growls.

No shit, Sherlock, I think. Welcome to reality. I know exactly what you are looking for. He's tall, rich and handsome; a cocky, childish, _clueless_ jackass, but with a heart of gold. You're perfect for each other!

Instead, I smirk, parrot back her earlier words. "Mhm."

"What?

"Don't _what_ me, missy. You know exactly what."

"I just…" she groans, running a hand through her hair, leaving it mussed up in the back and pulled away from her face, showing the bony line of her jaw and the sharp shadow below her cheeks as she fights back emotion. She's losing the battle and I lay a palm on her knee, squeezing to let her know that I'm here.

"I just thought we might have had a chance, you know? And so I… I called it off with Tom and then _he_… he fucking went and left for the summer with his ex-wife! I mean, what the hell, Jess? I thought that we were… I thought… ugh!"

"Oh, Kate," I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and pulling her into my side.

God, Rick, I think. You're _such_ an idiot.

This Gina thing is bound to last a while too. It's how it goes with them; running hot and cold. They share a deep friendship, and a good, if somewhat hostile at times, working relationship. An actual relationship seems almost like a forgone conclusion. It always does. But it also never lasts. Again and again, their personalities clash, until the friction becomes too much to bear and one or the other walks away to lick their wounds. It's always been about comfort and convenience with Rick and Gina; it's never been about passion or love.

"Don't," she says sharply, pulling out of my embrace. "I can't. Not now. You're gonna make me cry."

"Would that be such a terrible thing?" I ask.

"Yes!" she replies, her voice bitter. "This is why I don't let myself…this is why I…"

"Didn't want to let Rick in?" I ask, figuring it is time one of us states the obvious.

"Yeah," she sighs, slumping forward and burying her head in her hands. "It was a mistake."

"It wasn't a mistake," I assure her in a quiet voice.

She gives me the side-eye from between the cascades of her hair in front of her face. Perhaps it's time for her to get a little dose of the truth along the same lines of what Rick had gotten earlier.

"The mistake," I say, looking her squarely in the eye, "was _both_ of you playing games."

She perks up at that, sitting back up and turning to face me on the bench. "What are you talking about? What games?"

She really doesn't see it? Jesus. They are_ both_ delusional.

"Oh come on, Kate. Rick sleeps with Ellie to make you jealous..."

She gasps, cutting off my impending rant for a moment, her eyes widening. Did she really think that it was about anything else? Or _course _he was trying to make her jealous. I lift up an index finger to stop her from denying it. "And then suddenly, it's Tom_ this_ and Tom _that_."

She narrows her eyes at me, but I'm on a roll, so I continue. She takes a chug from her water bottle and sets it down a little too heavily on the bench beside her.

"So sure enough, Rick comes in looking more forlorn and more hopeless every day for weeks. He mopes, silently might I add, when usually I can't get him to shut up about how awesome the twelfth, aka _you, _is."

She gives me an incredulous look. She doesn't believe a word I'm saying. "And now suddenly he's decided to take off to the Hamptons with Gina? Just like that?"

She cringes.

"So spill, woman. Something happened to push him over the edge and firmly into jackass territory. Pray tell, how did you up the ante this time?"

She groans, and takes another swig from the bottle, another until she drains it, crushing the plastic between her fingers. "He asked me to go to the Hamptons with him first. He hounded me all week. And god, Jess, I almost said yes. I _wanted _to say yes but…"

"You said no?"

"I said I was busy with work."

"Wow, way to avoid a commitment, Kate," I snark. "Way to dodge your chance." She nods in agreement and closes her eyes. "So, were you? Busy, with work, that is?"

There's more to this story, she looks riddled with guilt.

"No…"

It's so quiet I barely even hear it. My stomach drops. She lowers her gaze, shame washing over her features. "What did you do?" I ask.

"I was supposed to be heading to a B&B with Tom and I didn't want to hurt Castle so I just kind of avoided the topic and didn't mention it."

Oh jeez, now it's becoming clear.

"He found out anyway?"

"Uh-huh. And then he said that he needed a break from the twelfth anyway and that he was leaving to work on his book. So I broke up with Demming, intending to, well, you know..." She shakes her head and shrugs. "But we never got to talk, and I get the feeling that though he said he'd see me in the fall, maybe, maybe he won't be back at all. And then there's Gina…"

She throws me a pleading look and I nod in understanding. Subtlety is not one of Gina's strongpoints. If Rick had mentioned even a hint of what was going on with Kate, if she had even suspected, I am certain that her claws would have been fully drawn and ready to strike. Annoying as she can sometimes be, she is also protective of Rick and always, _always,_ up for a fight.

"Jess, you can't imagine. She was wrapped right around him, hanging on like they were a bona fide couple. And I didn't even realize… I didn't know how much Castle meant to me until I saw that. God, what have I done?"

"Oh, I can imagine. Gina's a force to be reckoned with when provoked."

She furrows her brow in confusion.

"It's probably not as bad as it seemed," I soothe. "Gina's just protective of him." Some of the worry eases in her expression. "You want that hug now?" I ask, offering my outstretched arms and a smile.

She nods, lower lip jutting out in a pout and leaning in for a squeeze. "You're both idiots," I whisper into her hear.

"So what do I do now?" she asks, pulling away, her voice sounding watery but her tears held at bay.

I think that she's had enough sadness for one day, and with Rick off being an idiot in the Hamptons, I say the only logical thing I can think of to get her out of her funk. "What _we_ do… is go and put on some pretty little dresses, something short and sparkly; we do our hair and slather on the makeup, and then we go out and get you back on the saddle. Let's take a night off and trawl for some man meat, huh?"

"Man meat?" she cackles, her laugh verging on hysterical.

"Man meat," I intone seriously, only serving to make her snort in a very unladylike fashion.

"Man meat it is then," she replies, pulling herself together, still grinning a little manically. "Alright if I bring a friend?" she asks. "There's someone you _have_ to meet."

I grin back, and stand, pulling her up with me. "The more the merrier! Come on, Kate, let's go have some fun and forget our troubles for a night, huh?"

She nods, a smile tugging the corners of her lips up and her eyes finally shining brightly.

"Besides, do you even _know_ how long it's been since _I _have had any action?" I grumble.

"Lanie is gonna love you," she says over her shoulder, leading the way out of the park.

Yes, I think, as I follow alongside her. A little fun is exactly what we both need. With Rick out of town, what could be the harm?

* * *

**Look at that! Another update within the space of a week. Praise me! Shower me in love. Or reviews, reviews would be good too. **

**Much love to Avi for holding my hand through the feels and the not wanting to write a word of it all. And to Trish for being an awesome beta and finding all my typos. **


	13. Chapter 13

_I grin back, and stand, pulling her up with me. "The more the merrier! Come on, Kate, let's go have some fun and forget our troubles for a night, huh?"_

_She nods, a smile tugging the corners of her lips up and her eyes finally shining brightly. _

"_Besides, do you even know how long it's been since I have had any action?" I grumble._

"_Lanie is gonna love you," she says over her shoulder, leading the way out of the park. _

_Yes, I think, as I follow alongside her. A little fun is exactly what we both need. With Rick out of town, what could be the harm?_

* * *

The harm, it turns out, was mainly to my feet. It had been more than a few months since I'd been out dancing and verging on a few _years_ since I'd partied as hard as Kate and Lanie had insisted was necessary to forget all of our troubles.

Those girls were fun, but they were also a good decade younger than me, and I shamefully had to admit, after the third night in a row of shenanigans that I simply couldn't keep up with, that they should go on without me.

And they have, they did; lord, did they ever. Without Rick to bring her her daily dose of caffeine, she's been a regular fixture in the shop. Early mornings, bleary eyed and rushing for work, she asks for an extra shot of espresso in her latte. And late nights, with or without Lanie, more often than not she arrives giddy, bordering on tipsy, and fills me in on the night's events; phone numbers received and ignored, bad pickup lines, and the occasional dance partner that might have had a chance had they the nerve to ask.

It's been good for Kate. She's let her hair down over the summer; both figuratively and literally. She's had fun and it's shown in the way she holds herself. There's an air of confidence that she had lost for a minute when Rick had so idiotically left for the Hamptons.

Still, as fall had approached, the gloom had begun to worm its way into the edge of her psyche again, her mood falling as predictably as the leaves. Slowly, but surely, her eyes had lost some of that spark.

He told her he'd be back in the fall. And he hasn't called. Another week and I'm calling him.

* * *

"Girl!" I hear as I hand a macchiato off to an angry looking man in an expensive suit. I grin and turn to face her; there's no doubt who's calling me.

"Lanie," I reply in greeting, waving her over to the counter. "You finally gonna let me change your mind about the risks versus benefits of my fine brew?"

"Oh hell no," she snorts, picking a bottle of iced-tea out of the cooler beside the register. "This is as hardcore as it gets." She waves the bottle of decaffeinated green tea, jiggling it in my direction. "How much do I owe you?"

"On the house," I scoff, rolling my eyes. "You know, I could make you a latte, so smooth, so satisfying, you'd be begging for more before you reached the end of the cup."

"Not a chance," she says. "All-nighters throughout med school turned me off the stuff forever. I just…" She makes an exaggerated shudder. "No."

"Your loss," I shrug, quietly determined to someday have her try my brew. "So then, apart from my sparkling personality and watered down prepackaged beverages, what brings you down my way, Lanie?"

"Writer-boy is back," she says, her face implying that she's not particularly happy about this new development. "You got a minute?" She gestures to the couch that has become our late night hangout.

"Yeah, of course," I say, grabbing my, unfortunately cold, cup of coffee from the counter and joining her on the sofa. I'm not entirely certain that she's here to talk to me. It's possible that she's here to talk _at_ me.

We settle on the seat and I awkwardly watch the passersby on the street. I uncomfortably play with the rim of my mug, and Lanie takes a long swig of her tea. It feels like lines are being drawn, sides taken, and I really don't want to lose her friendship over Rick and Kate's inability to be reasonable adults, no matter how new it is.

"Has Castle been in here?" she starts. "Because _he's_ back, and _she_ doesn't want to talk about it." She rolls her eyes. "Kate is all shaken up."

"Yeah," I sigh, mentally preparing myself, but she doesn't seem like she's particularly angry, just frustrated, maybe with both of them. "He came in an hour or so ago for a couple of coffees," I say. "He seemed pretty eager to get to Kate though; he wasn't in any mood to talk."

Eager is an understatement, he was practically bouncing like a puppy waiting to be thrown a tennis ball.

"Huh…" She looks away, debating something before continuing. "The story through the grapevine is that she kicked him out this morning. If he's going back to try again…" She trails off, the internal debate showing clearly in her features; share her feelings regarding her best friend, or keep quiet?

Finally, she begins again. "You have to know that she's not gonna be responsive to him pushing right now."

Looks like we are going to share then. "The grapevine, huh?" I smirk, trying to smooth over any lingering tension. "This grapevine wouldn't happen to be a smoking-hot Hispanic detective with a body to die for would it?"

"We are _not _talking about me right now," Lanie snips, a little color forming in her cheeks and a smile widening despite her best efforts to smother it. "We're here to conspire against our favorite, yet impossibly stupid, not-couple."

"I'm pretty sure he's still with Gina," I offer up in return. "He would have said something if he wasn't."

At least I think he would have. It's hard to say, I realize. His summer away has affected me as well. I miss him, he's my friend too, and I'm not entirely happy with him myself. He had better make an appearance that lasts longer than the time it takes to get a coffee; and soon. We've rarely gone this long without talking.

"_That's_ probably a good thing," Lanie says thoughtfully, rubbing a thumb over her chin.

"How so?" I ask. "If our end goal is to get these two idiots to admit what's right in front of them, how is he being with someone else helpful?"

"He broke her trust. _He_ might not know that because she took so damn long to come to her senses, but our girl is still hurting. If he was single, it would be too much for her. You know Kate, she'd run for sure; kick him out for good in fear of making a fool out of herself again."

I nod in agreement and she continues. "As it is, Gina's a convenient barrier until they get back on track. Unless… You don't think it'll last do you?"

"Hmm, you have a point," I acknowledge. "And no, Rick and Gina are… they're complicated. I don't want to say friends with benefits, it's more than that but… well yeah, it's not gonna be long term."

Lanie sighs in relief, nodding her head, obviously pleased with herself and her correct assumption regarding Castle and Gina. "Mhm."

"You know," I say, "What she _really_ needs is a rebound. It seems like there have been a couple of possibilities, but none of them seem to have panned out. Sometimes her ironclad self-restraint is a real pain in the ass."

Lanie chuckles, sipping her tea. "You don't know the half of it."

I reach for my cup and take a swig, my face crumpling in disgust at the cold swill that the once perfect latte has turned into. I place it back on the coffee table and recline back onto the couch, stretching my legs, knowing that the lull in business will be short-lived and that I'll have to be back on my feet soon.

"Thank you," I suddenly blurt out, breaking the happy silence that had blanketed us for a moment.

She tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing about her lips; chocolate eyes soft, curious. "For what?"

"For not making this a, 'my kid did this to your kid, and so now I'm here to make you yell at your kid', type of thing." I grin.

She laughs. "Oh honey, that is actually _exactly_ what I had in mind when I started over here. But you know what?"

"Hmm?"

"You've been good for her; as her best friend I can see that."

My eye widen in response to her honesty.

"Don't get me wrong, it might burn a little that she's been coming to you over me." There's a small shake of her head and a roll of her eyes. "But, I also know that sometimes I can get a little…" She smirks. "Pushy."

I gasp, mock horror, before breaking out into a laugh. "Uh huh, I might have noticed that."

She grins, eye twinkling. "Yeah well, _you've_ got the wisdom that she probably needs right about now."

"Wisdom?" I ask. "Did you just call me _old_?"

"Perspective then," she grins, pleased with her jab.

"Thanks Lanie," I reply, glossing over the dig, glad that she doesn't hold a grudge. "When Kate told me that I had to meet you, I gotta admit, I was a little afraid of what that would mean. Worlds colliding and all. Women being as they sometimes are."

Lanie snickers. "Yeah, I've been down that road a few times myself. But, getting back to your perspective and all…"

"Uh-oh…"

Here it comes, the reason she is here. But it's understandable, and I do have a certain insider angle into the mind of Rick Castle. If it will help make things better for everyone involved, I'm willing to do what I can.

"Look, Castle _is_ your boy…" She wrings her hands, sighing. "Maybe you could, I don't know, maybe tell him to back off with the pushing? Kate will come around; you _know_ she will. But it might be better if he lays off the 'eager puppy dog' angle, focus on the work side of things, rather than…" She sighs heavily, raises an eyebrow and waves a hand around dismissively. "Well, whatever the hell it is they've got going on."

I nod, laughing that she has spoken the exact phrase that I was thinking about Rick earlier.

She's right; on both counts.

"He_ is_ rather like an excited puppy when he gets an idea in his head, isn't he?"

* * *

True to form, Rick bounds in the next morning, bright and early.

I greet him at the door and after catching up on his summer, hearing about he and Kate's rather unfortunate first meetings, and finally, gaining assurances that he won't be leaving me out in the cold for so long again, I lead him over to the counter.

"The usual?" I ask, holding up two cups.

"You know it," he grins. "She's gonna take me back, Jess. Just watch."

"Yeah, about that," I hedge, trying to judge how open he is going to be to my counsel.

He cocks his head, his face open and a little nervous looking. Good, he's afraid. He should be.

I take my time with the steamer and tamp down the ground beans more than I probably need to, biding my time and letting him sweat for a minute. "You need to tone it down."

"Jess, I…"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "Are you or are you not with Gina right now?" I say.

"I am but this isn't about that, with Kate I just… I enjoy being around the precinct, you know? It makes me feel good to help."

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. Bullshit. But keep telling yourself that Rick.

"Seriously Jess, I'm _helpful!"_

"Okay, okay," I laugh, "I believe you."

I don't, not one bit. But he seems to.

"Kate's fine," he says, clueless. "Sure, I pissed her off by not calling, but I mean… _you _forgave me right? Beckett will too."

The steamer hisses and the bubbles threaten to spill over the edge of the beaker; I'm gonna scald the milk if I drag this out too much longer.

He really is oblivious about what Kate was ready to do before he left, I think, watching his face, noticing the happy gleam in his eyes. I sigh, running a hand through my hair, frustrated that I can't break Kate's trust and beat some sense into this man's head.

It's not going to be nearly as easy as he thinks. He has no idea the damage that's been done.

"Look, just take it slow," I end up saying, giving him a meaningful stare. I pump a couple shots of vanilla into one cup, pour the milk and espresso into both to-go cups, and doodle a little flower into each before placing the lids on top. "She's had a whole three months to get into a routine without her faithful pet at her side. Just work on getting yourself housebroken again, eh?"

"I feel like I should probably take offense to that," Rick grins, but he nods along like he might actually be listening.

I breathe easier, hoping he's gotten the message.

"There's a good boy," I smirk, grabbing a muffin and throwing it his direction, sliding his cups along the counter, toward him.

Rick catches the muffin mid-flight and picks up his coffee, laughing and taking a sip. He waves the chocolate-chip muffin in front of me. "You want me to run around the counter and drop this at your feet?" he laughs.

"Nah," I reply. "Just be good, and maybe keep your tail between your legs for a few days, huh? It can't hurt."

"Yeah," he says thoughtfully, studying me with an intense gaze, making me incredibly uncomfortable.

I need to get him out of here before I say something that I shouldn't; something that Kate will never forgive me for.

The front door jingles, a couple of teenagers coming in for a fix before school and a handsome but tired looking man in medical scrubs trailing in behind them.

"Go on," I say, looking toward the boys, letting my eyes linger on the dish of a man decked out in dark blue, thankful for the interruption of Rick's scrutiny. "Go, be _helpful,_" I smirk, turning back to him.

His face brightens at the thought of the twelfth, of Kate. He quickly grabs a coffee tray and put the cups inside, balancing the muffin in the middle.

"I _am _helpful," he grumbles as he turns to leave.

"Mhm," I agree.

"See ya later, Jess," he says, half turning back and bumping into the man wearing scrubs.

He mumbles an apology to the man, throws me a smile and a wave as he exits, and I let out a relived breath.

Saved by the bell.

* * *

**You know the drill. Love me, love me! **

**Thanks to everyone who prodded and poked me for this chapter. To Nic, and Jo, and Avi, and Kellie; for their helpful suggestions and for the pointing out of laughable typos. You da bestest! I promise not to yell at any more milk. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Yeah, yeah, it's been forever. I have no decent excuses. I apologize for the wait.**

* * *

It's late, really late, when she arrives. She's filthy; head to toe covered in dirt and grass stains. Her hair is mussed and her makeup is smeared. What on earth happened to her?

I don't get a chance to ask though as she makes a beeline for her usual chair; the chair that's currently occupied by one of my new semi-regulars. He only comes in late at night, only ever stays a short time and rarely talks, but he's nice enough, always says please and thank you. I like him. John, I think his name is. Something with a J. No… Josh. It's definitely Josh. Josh the cardiac surgeon. If I was a decade or so younger, he'd be quite the catch, I think.

"Kate, wait!" I call, but I'm too late, she's already skidded to a halt as she rounds a column and comes face to face with the man occupying 'her' chair. She looks a little stunned and taken aback that he's in her seat. He just looks stunned.

Fair enough, I think. She is looking pretty stunning right now, and not in her usual 'just stepped out of the pages of Vogue' way. No, this is more of a feral wildebeest look that she's got going on.

I can barely make out her apologies as she holds out a dirty looking hand to introduce herself but the man smiles and shakes it anyway, laughing at something she says. Something I don't catch at all. Damn. Looks like eavesdropping will be out of the question tonight. The secluded spot is just too far from the counter that I'm chained to tonight after an employee had called in sick and left me high and dry.

I quickly set about making her the usual; chai tea latte. Watching them out of the corner of my eye while I steam the milk, now it's her that I notice laughing. They are cute together, I think, before my stomach drops and the feeling of a lead brick settles deep in my gut.

Shit! I know exactly what I am witnessing. This is a couple in the making.

I smell trouble. Not for Kate, per se, but mainly for myself and the perceptions I have about my matchmaking abilities. Rick and Kate are my endgame. But I'll be damned; it looks like now it is Kate's turn to throw a wrench into the works. I _have_ been advocating for a rebound after all. But I was thinking more of a one night stand than a full-on relationship. Rick's latest affair with Gina has gone on longer than I ever expected it to though and I'll give Kate this: If she's going to find someone new, a handsome doctor with a rocking body and a smile to die for isn't a bad choice.

She reaches over and smacks him on the bicep, an intimate gesture coming from her, and I quickly pick up her now complete chai and hurry over to the alcove to hand it to her. She accepts it with a nod of thanks and I wave away the five dollar bill she waves in my direction, instead shooting her a look that infers I know exactly what is going on over here. She ducks her eyes, clearing her throat and I take it as my cue to leave.

I busy myself for the next few minutes, wiping tables and sweeping my already swept floor, being not at all discreet. I don't glean any more specific information but I can tell from their body language that they have definitely hit it off.

As I'm tucking the broom back in its cupboard behind the counter, Josh rises, handing over his business card. Kate smiles and replies in kind, handing over her card and blushing when he lets his fingers linger on hers for a moment longer than is socially acceptable.

Oh yeah, I'm definitely in trouble here. All my painstaking groundwork is being swept away with the brush of a few digits.

Kate grabs her bag from the floor and makes like she's going to follow him out of the store but I quickly intervene, running over to grab her hand and pull her back into the store. She raises an eyebrow but comes along willingly enough. She knows by now that I'll use force if necessary. I'm not above it. We both know it.

"Nice to meet you, Kate," he says, his voice smooth and warm, like honey, as he exits.

Kate blushes, again, and nods as he leaves.

"Spill," I demand, leading her back to the seating area and sitting her down on the sofa by the window.

"There's nothing to tell," she hedges. "He's… sweet."

"Not half bad to look at either," I say.

"Nope…"

I decide to let her off the hook for a minute. Besides, I hear the bell above the door ringing and since I'm the only one on shift tonight, Kate is _literally_ saved by the bell. She smirks as I rise and I roll my eyes in response. "This isn't over," I warn with a grin as I hurry over to the register to take the lady's order. She orders a cup of decaf, drip filtered coffee and I sigh in relief. She'll be out the door in no time and I can resume grilling Kate.

It turns out that the woman wants to chat. She comments on the weather, the Mets, the state of the economy, and while usually I'd be happy to indulge, my friend is sitting over on the sofa by the window, watching the pedestrians pass by with a contented smile on her face. I'm polite to the lady, inquiring about where she lives and what she does for a living, a few other general questions, but I'm also in a rush and I miss most of the conversation as my attention keeps slipping. Brooklyn, I catch though, and she's a hairdresser.

Huh, I think. That explains the chattiness; she's a kindred spirit. "Listen," I say, handing over her cup of steaming decaf. "I hate to shuffle you out the door, but I think you're my kind of people and I know you'll understand. I'm short-handed tonight, but that's my friend over there and she's… having a moment."

"Ah," she smiles, taking the hint. "Gotcha! Some other time then," she says with a wink and turns to leave.

"Have a good one," I call after her.

As I return to the couch, I study Kate's features. She looks happy; relaxed in a way she hasn't for a long time. I decide to drop the topic of the handsome doctor and let her have her moment, instead going after the giant elephant in the room.

"So…" She looks up, already cringing, probably assuming I'm gonna go for the jugular regarding the surgeon. "You wanna explain your disheveled appearance?"

"Oh," she laughs, eyes lighting up and a huge grin spreading across her face. "Castle and I…"

And then her face falls again. God, can nothing be simple with this woman? Castle and you should have been together a year ago, I think. "Castle did this?" I say instead, gesturing to her mud-streaked slacks.

"We were on a case and it lead to a treasure map," she replies.

"No freaking way," I exclaim. "No way."

"Way," she confirms, nodding. "An honest to goodness treasure map."

"So you guys just followed the map and dug up a treasure?"

"More or less…" she responds, chuckling before continuing. "There was a long and convoluted case, and the possibility of an extended gun battle at one point, but yeah, more or less."

"You know," I say. "I think I'm kind of glad that I don't have your job. Exciting as buried treasure sounds; I'm not too fond of the idea of gun battles. I'm glad you're both okay," I say, squeezing her knee.

"Me too," she says, still smiling. "Castle was actually kinda helpful this time around. He probably saved all of our lives."

"Well, well," I reply, impressed. "Is our boy growing up?"

"Could be," she says, her tone laced with a small hint of sadness.

"What is it?" I ask gently.

"It's nothing; it's stupid really."

"Impossible."

"_Really."_

"Try me," I say.

She sighs, fiddling with her fingernails and stalling for a minute before she begins. "We were gonna go out and celebrate. After we'd turned over the goods, of course." She laughs, "Castle was none too happy about that. He was rambling about the injustice of it all; finding a treasure and then having to do the right thing and hand it over to the police."

"Yeah," I laugh, "that would really chap his ass."

"Uh huh. So as a consolation I offered to take him out to celebrate. We were halfway to a little bar I know, not far from his place, when his cell rang."

Oh, I know exactly where this is going. "Gina?" I ask.

"Yeah," she confirms, looking around as though prying ears might hear her confession.

But the shop is deserted at this late hour and there's nothing, and no one, who can possibly interrupt and perhaps save her from coming clean.

"Look, I know I have no right to him. She's his girlfriend, his ex-wife for goodness sakes. But still…"

She fidgets with her dirty clothes, pulling on the hem of her shirt that has somehow torn and frayed at her hips. She twirls at a loose thread, refusing to meet my eyes.

"It stung a little?" I ask, gently placing a hand on her arm and encouraging her to look up at me.

She meets my eyes, the greens and browns stormy and a little hazy. "Yeah."

"Kate, I don't know if you want to hear this but…"

"But nothing Jess. I'm being ridiculous." She cuts me off, shrugging off my hand and shaking her head as if to clear the unhappy thoughts. "He deserves to be happy and if Gina's what makes him happy, I'm okay with it. Really. Besides," she says, swiftly turning the conversation away from the feelings that she clearly still has for Rick. "This guy, Josh? I think I might really like him. We made plans to go out sometime this week. Probably tomorrow night. As long as he doesn't get called in for a shift at the hospital."

"You like him, huh?" I ask, taking her cue to drop the Castle subject and move on to more exciting things.

Kate and Rick might be endgame. But perhaps she's right… in her own screwed up way. They are both obviously meant for each other, but it's also likely that neither of them is ready for it yet. They are both so very gun-shy, neither willing to pull the trigger and admit their true feelings for the other.

They keep breaking each other's trust, each other's hearts, and maybe it's better that they move on alone, grow up a little more, before attempting to come together for anything long term. I'd hate to see them flame out and die because they rushed into a relationship with their eyes closed.

One and done, Kate always says. I have a sneaking suspicion that Kate already knows that Rick's her one, and the lack of Gina in recent conversations leads me to believe that as far as Rick's relationship goes, he's almost done.

Perhaps I should just step back and let nature take its course.

She nods her head, smiling. "Yeah," she says. "I think I might."

"Then I'm happy for you," I say, actually meaning it.

After all, Kate needs to learn that she can depend on people. And who could be more trustworthy with a fragile heart than a freaking _cardiac surgeon_?

* * *

**It's CASTLE FREAKING... SUNDAY? Ah well, who cares?! Happy Castle day to you all! No matter what day you plan on watching it. Hiatus of hell... OVER!**

**Many thanks to Kell for the awesome last-minute beta. And to Avi, who started me on an epic writing binge of almost 10,000 words last night. If not for that, I doubt I ever would have found the mojo to pull out Jess and dust her off for another chapter. **


	15. Chapter 15

**I don't know what happened with this one. Jess gets all deep and meaningful. Let's put this one toward my Valkyrie/Dreamworld feels and leave it at that.**

* * *

To say I'm surprised when they walk through my door together at eleven o'clock in the evening is an understatement. They've been less frequent in their visits lately, both spending their nights and off-hours with their respective significant others.

Rick is practically bouncing on his heels as they approach the counter. He looks good. He's sharply dressed, if a little rumpled, and the excitement in his eyes adds a new level of handsome to his features. It's the look he gets when he's had a brilliant idea for a new novel or an especially good plot point.

I grin in their direction, already excited if that is indeed the case. It's been a while since he's graced me with any new reading material.

Kate is a lot less exuberant though, and not nearly as well dressed. She looks like Rick has dragged her out of bed.

Taking a closer look at her, she looks kind of pissed off, and I have never known Kate to be anything but professional when it comes to an active case. So what on earth have these two got going on that is important enough for Kate to be swayed into coming out with him at night and yet have her seemingly pissed off with him at the same time?

"Hey Jess," greets Rick, leaning over the counter to lay a kiss on my cheek.

"Rick," I smile. "Kate." I greet her over his shoulder.

I get a whiff of his cologne, a day old, barely there, and mixed with the scent of his laundry detergent and sweat. He smells good, manly, and not for the first time I wonder how Kate manages to keep her hands off of him.

"The usual, please," he says as he retreats back to side of the counter.

I smell toothpaste as he speaks. Interesting, I think. He brushed his teeth before meeting up with Kate tonight. Does Gina know about this little outing?

Kate nods her head in greeting and shoots an eye roll in Rick's direction.

Rick isn't carrying their tumblers, and so pulling a couple of to-go cups from the stack by the register and dipping my head toward Kate, I say, "So, what brings you two out so late at night? New case?"

"Old one, actually," she says, barely managing to conceal her annoyance.

"It's gonna be in those files," Castle insists, nudging the folders tucked under Kate's arm with his elbow. "I know we're missing something."

"Yeah, like my bedtime," Kate grouses. "For some reason, Castle here couldn't possibly wait until morning to get a look at these." She indicates the stack of folders bearing the insignia of the NYPD.

Hmm, so he has dragged her out of bed for a late night study session. It says a lot to me that she has agreed.

"No hot date tonight?" I ask, wondering if things have already cooled off with the surgeon, wondering if _he_ knows about this late night rendezvous.

"You know about him?" Rick interjects before she can answer. He slams his mouth shut then, grinding his teeth and wincing.

Is that a hint of jealousy I detect? It's almost funny; his obvious distress regarding Kate's new boyfriend, Kate's obliviousness to his discomfort. Almost.

Oh, Rick. Oh, Kate. Would you two open your eyes already?

"This is where they met," I smirk instead, not voicing my inner annoyance with their blindness.

He gives me the side-eye, a scowl plastered across his features.

Kate shakes her head in the negative. "Josh is on-call tonight. Says he can't sleep well when he's at my place."

Rick shifts, his eyes studying the patterns in the stone floor.

"We had an early dinner and he went home a few hours ago."

His eyes light up as I begin preparing his usual cappuccino; day or night his order never changes.

For a man who is supposedly in a committed relationship, who just a day ago had told me of his plans to make up for offending Gina with a night of pampering and apologies, he looks awfully happy about Kate's going solo for the night.

"What about Kate's latte?" he says, pointing to the single shot of espresso I've prepared. I raise an eyebrow and throw a smirk in his direction, reaching toward the makings of Kate's usual late night order: a chai tea latte.

"You drink _tea?_" he asks her, a look of shock on his face.

"She does," I butt in, smiling, oddly pleased to know something about her that he doesn't.

"Layers, Castle, layers," she smirks, before turning tail and making her way over to the sofa. She spreads the papers out on the coffee table and begins to scan the files.

"How did I not know this?" he asks me, baffled.

"You should pay a little more attention," I grin, steaming the milk for both their drinks. I pour the milk into both cups, being careful to strain Kate's; she likes her lattes flat rather than foamy. "Might keep you out of trouble."

Rick turns and watches Kate as I pop the lids onto the cups. She's far away, intense and scanning through the files, a highlighter is in one hand, a strand of hair curled around her finger on the other. Weariness shrugged off, she's immersed in the case already.

Rick's hand twitches at his side, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together as though itching to be the once caressing the errant curl on the side of her head. It takes two clearings of my throat to get his attention back; he's immersed in her.

"Trouble… uh, yeah," he says, blinking rapidly.

I hand over the cups with a wink and leave them to it, only occasionally sneaking glances in their direction as I go about clearing the display cases of the day's pastries and assorted snack foods.

It's not until the counters are wiped down and the floor is mopped that I grab myself a coffee, set a fresh pair of drinks down in front of them and sit in the loveseat opposite them that I get the chance to study them.

Despite the fits and starts of any romantic feelings that they might be keeping close to the vest, their working relationship is flawless. They acknowledge me with a moment of eye contact but quickly resume working the case, my presence obviously fading into the peripheral as they are overcome by facts and conjecture, getting lost in each other's theories and ideas; in each other.

It leaves me time to contemplate them, to contemplate myself, and the paths we all choose to take.

Our existence is so temporary; minutes fleet by, turning to hours and days without thought. We're all so dreadfully lonely, so desperately searching for someone to fill the holes in our hearts. We crave that deep, soulful connection with another being, yet we search in every other direction but straight ahead.

They are a prime example. They cling to temporary relationships, both meaning well, but neither giving their full attention. If only they would stop for a moment, step back and take stock, look inward for a moment and then outward with fresh eyes.

Fear holds them back, I think. Fear of the unknown, of taking the brave path. Or is it the wondering? Is it possible that it is hope that keeps them in this holding pattern? There's a certain sweetness in the waiting. That special anticipation that encompasses the longing; the butterflies and a rolling belly.

The air around them crackles, like magic, and fireflies on a warm summer night. What they have is special; a blind man could see that.

And yet, they hold back. An accidental brush of knuckles leaves her taking a deeper breath and flushing a dusty shade of pink. He misses it as his eyes focus on his clenched fist. She reaches for a pen and it gets caught on his coat, the cap snagging on the zipper. She apologizes and he waves her off with a laugh and a thorough inspection of a file that just moments before he'd thrown down in frustration. She misses it as she ducks her head, her hair falling to the side and exposing her neck. She misses the way he wets his lips and gulps down an emotional onslaught.

He closes his eyes and I watch as he mouths '_one, two, three'_.

There's pain in the longing too. And once awakened, it's a difficult beast to contain. Like a magnet we are drawn to the one we can't have, forced to watch, and endure, until it's time for our homesick souls to find north.

We are conditioned to avoid pain, and yet if we are brave, the invisible thread between two hearts can lead us home.

I don't miss any of it. I don't miss the way their knees touch, or the way their foreheads almost meet as their theories start to converge, as the evidence of shoddy police work becomes clear and after a few moments of bickering, a solid plan of action is formed.

"Come on, Kate," he says, eyes shining, "A love story as good as theirs deserves a happy ending."

She smiles then, meeting his eyes and biting on her lip. "I don't disagree with you, Castle." She pauses, and then a sigh. "I just don't know how successful we are gonna be at convincing a judge."

"You've got this," he says, leaning forward and closing the folders, stacking them neatly in a pile on the table. She raises her eyebrows, looking like she doesn't entirely believe him. "Breaking her out of jail? That's love. Come on. You've got this," he repeats, pressing the files into her hands.

There's a moment then, a moment where her eyes flick to his lips and his breath catches. I hold my own breath, waiting to see how this will play out, both eager to see them finally give in and anxious about the damage it would cause should they succumb.

I quickly debate my options. I can do nothing, quietly watch from the sidelines and let them fall into each other. It would be easy; it would be simple to let them break all their carefully molded moral codes and have their moment. But it would be wrong too. And possibly the end of them as the moment faded away and they were left with just the nagging guilt and quiet degradation of their honor.

Ruefully, I clear my throat.

Kate startles a little, falling back into the couch. Rick quickly stands, rearranging his jacket and looking anywhere but toward me or Kate.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat. "I guess that's that then."

"Yeah," she murmurs, gathering her purse and tipping her paper cup back, quickly downing the last swallow of cold chai.

"Jess, it's been a pleasure as always," Rick says, holding out a hand to assist me off the love seat. I think I detect a hint of annoyance towards me. I don't blame him. I _did_ just ruin his moment. But it's for their own good and, eventually, he might even thank me.

I grab his hand and let him pull me up, giving him a knowing look, letting my eyes flit to Kate. "I hope you two figure it out."

He gets my meaning, gulps and nods in acknowledgment. I'm not talking about the case.

I pick up the discarded cups and crumpled pieces of note paper that they've left scattered about the coffee table. "Don't forget to tip your waitress on the way out," I grin, sashaying over to the trash can with an armful of garbage.

He wanders over to the tip jar by the counter and pulls a note out of his wallet.

"I was kidding," I reprimand, running over and smacking his hand away before he can deposit his cash into the jar.

"It's nothing," he says, eyes sincere. He holds my hand, not allowing me to swat him away again as he deposits a fifty into the gratuity jug.

It's not nothing.

"Nice," I say, smiling and giving him a nod of thanks. "Really, you _don't_ have to. But the guys will appreciate the first round of Friday night drinks."

He grins back, the tension around us easing as I steer the conversation back toward our usual easy banter.

"Hey, I gotta keep the coffee flowing," he retorts. "And keep you in business. What would I do without the Hut to keep Detective Beckett fully caffeinated? She's a beast without her morning fix."

"I heard that," she grumbles, walking up beside him and narrowing her eyes, one hand pressed firmly into her hip. I back up a little, getting my body out of the crossfire in case she intends to clock him for the comment.

Rick is saved though, just in the nick of time.

"I gotta go," she says, blinking, looking a little unnerved as her phone pings and the doctor's face lights up her screen.

"Yeah," I say, feigning a lightness to my voice that nobody is feeling as the awkwardness of the situation comes crashing down upon us all. It's only a matter of time until this carefully struck balance is tipped one direction or the other. "Have a good one," I say. "We'll talk soon, yeah?"

She nods, giving me an earnest smile. "We will."

"Night Castle," she says, tipping the files in his direction. "I got this. First thing in the morning, okay?"

"Night Beckett," he says to her retreating form as she makes her way out the door.

He scrubs his hands through his hair, letting out an uneven breath.

"Thanks, Jess."

He's not thanking me for the coffee or a place to spread out their files.

* * *

**New Jess-fic! And it didn't even take me two months to come up with something this time. Praise me?**

**Thanks to Kellie for the beta. She rocks. But blame me for typos. I have a tendency to fiddle even after I swear that I am done fiddling and insist that it is really, truly, ready for betaing. **


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